


The Turning of the Tide

by umakoo



Series: Age of Sail [3]
Category: Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Age of Sail, Alternate Universe - Historical, Chris is a jerk, Class Differences, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Slow Burn, Tom is a spoiled brat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 06:18:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5655688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umakoo/pseuds/umakoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The boy carried himself in that cocksure way men born on the island tended to have, and Chris could tell his family was well-off, for the brass buttons on his short blue coat were polished to shine, the white blouse underneath it stainless. His face was freckled and a little pink from the brisk sea air, but so smooth that Chris could tell the lad had not spent a single day on an actual sailing vessel. More fresh meat to the grinder then, and this one was a dandy like the Captain.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The final fic in my Age of Sail series, set on a whaling ship in the early 19th century. Chris is the gruff-mannered first mate of The Tailwind and an alpha to boot. Tom is the eldest son of one of Nantucket’s most respected whaling families who believes himself to be a beta, but the harsh conditions and the close proximity to alphas in the crew bring something dormant in him to the surface…</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Turning of the Tide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissNefer (thorduna)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorduna/gifts).



> This fic was inspired by In the Heart of the Sea (book and movie), but everything about the story is fictional and there’s no historical accuracy. The a/b/o dynamics aren’t based on any existing universe and **all sex in the fic is fully consensual.**
> 
> Big thanks to Bucky, Selene, Teresa and Rina for beta reading and for all the helpful suggestions! <3

**Warnings for: some whaling-related blood and gore, underage (Tom is 17), age difference (9 years), mentions of mpreg.**

 

 

_1815_

 

It should have been him. _He_ was the one with more than ten years of experience and the pins to prove it. The command of the ship and her crew, they should’ve belonged to him. But here was this dandy, this Edwin Abbott, now _Captain_ Abbott, his cocked hat and velvet coat prim and proper as he surveyed his new domain. The deck was crammed with sacks and boxes and more kept coming as men continued to walk up and down the gangway, their hands full of provisions. Chris leaned his elbows against the bulwark, his eyes turned to the maritime office where he’d experienced the biggest disappointment of his life only an hour ago.

 

He’d been certain he would finally have the command of his own ship, for it was almost a done deal, missing only a handshake and the final signatures. Abbott hadn’t even been mentioned until this morning, but the man was a native of Nantucket and his good breeding had been enough to impress the shipowners while Chris’s own past did him no favors. His family had a humble background in sheepherding, and having had the misfortune of being born off-island, Chris was nothing more than a coof* from Cape Cod to these people.

 

_(*Term of disparagement reserved by Nantucketers for off-islanders, especially Cape Codders.)_

 

In the end, the command of the ship had gone to Abbott while Chris had to settle for the position of first mate. It was a coveted position, aye, one that any sailor hoped to one day achieve, but Chris knew he was ready for _more._ Had been for years! He was an alpha in his prime. It was in his very nature to command and as if to add insult to injury, Abbott was a beta, better suited to follow and serve.

 

Chris had to bite his cheek to stop himself from snarling when Abbott walked past him, hurrying down the gangway to embrace his wife and young daughter who had arrived at the docks to say their farewells. Tears were shed as the crew prepared to leave their families and companions behind for many long and lonely months. Chris could smell the desperation from some of the weaker-willed betas and omegas, and he was glad to be unbonded, for it made leaving that much easier when there was no one to miss. It was not uncommon for alphas in their profession to remain unbonded well into their thirties, for the long separation could be straining. Omegas usually only went into heat when their spouses returned home, but the mere knowledge that you might miss your companion’s heat was enough to drive some alphas into early retirement. Chris scoffed at the thought. What sentimental nonsense. Had he picked another profession, he most likely would have been bonded by now, for twenty and six was a respectable age for an alpha to settle down, but Chris was a whaler and the sea was his mate.

 

He watched as a group of young greenies made their way down the pier, heavy bags flung over their shoulders, their smiles bright and eager. They all started out with their heads full of silly, almost romantic notions about life at sea, but the true nature of their trade would dawn on these fresh-faced little mackerels soon enough, Chris would personally guarantee it. He stepped onto the gangway, his arms folded over his chest as he regarded the approaching youths. One of the lads gave Chris a clumsy salute and the others followed his example, their faces glowing as they stared at the Tailwind in all her glory. They all had the look of someone who had spent their life on land, and Chris could guess most of these boys had never been on anything bigger than a fishing boat.

 

“Permission to come aboard, sir?”

 

Chris took a deep inhale, scenting the group of boys. They were all betas, their smell a little musky but inoffensive, nothing to tempt the alphas in the crew during the long voyage. And no beta ever went into rut or felt the need to bond, which made them a reliable work force.

 

“Aye, welcome aboard the Tailwind, lads,” Chris grinned, allowing the boys to pass.

 

He watched them clamber up the gangway and almost push each other into the oily water in their hurry to climb aboard. It wasn’t until the final boy had walked past him that he smelled it: an omega. He grabbed the boy’s shoulder and yanked him back, lifting the whelp up by his lapels. Chris pushed his face into the boy’s neck and inhaled the sweet, slightly cloying scent. Aye, this one was an omega, not yet ripe, but not far from it. There would be no place for him aboard a whaler.

 

Chris gave the omega a gentle but assertive push. “You’re not setting foot on that deck, son,” he announced.

 

The boy watched his friends climb aboard the ship, his eyes imploring. “But, sir-“

 

“I said _no_.”

 

The boy grabbed Chris’s sleeve and gave it a light tug. “Please!”

 

Chris yanked his hand back and curled his upper lip to reveal his canines, his patience wearing thin. “Beat it, kid!” He barely raised his voice, but that one snarl was enough to send the boy scurrying away and Chris watched him disappear to the shadows of the wharf.

 

Everyone knew omegas had no place among any crew, for their mere presence in the cramped quarters was a distraction, and the physical strain and close proximity to alphas was enough to induce a heat sooner or later. But even that did not stop the most eager omegas from trying from time to time, for being a whaleman was a matter of pride in the close-knit island community, the profession often passed on from father to son.

 

Chris was about to resume his duties on deck when he noticed there was one more green hand making his way towards the Tailwind. He appeared as young as the rest of them, a boy of sixteen or seventeen, but where the others were clearly off-islanders, hailing from Cape Cod like Chris or the bigger cities on the East Coast, this one had the look of a pure-bread Nantucketer. The boy carried himself in that cocksure way men born on the island tended to have, and Chris could tell his family was well-off, for the brass buttons on his short blue coat were polished to shine, the white blouse underneath it stainless. His face was freckled and a little pink from the brisk sea air, but so smooth that Chris could tell the lad had not spent a single day on an actual sailing vessel. More fresh meat to the grinder, then, and this one was a dandy like the Captain.

 

The boy dragged his bag behind him as if it were full of rocks, his expression sour. He didn’t even look at Chris and simply strode past him, attempting to come aboard without a salute. Chris felt his hackles rise at the show of impudence and he stopped the lad before he could set foot on the gangway. The boy let out a surprised little _oof_ and glared at Chris’s palm where it was pressed firmly against his shoulder. The pads of his fingers brushed against a patch of bare skin and the kid let out a startled gasp at the contact, his breath catching in his throat. He stared at Chris as if he’d seen a ghost, eyes suddenly unfocused. He swayed to the left and came perilously close to stumbling right off the gangway, but Chris’s grip on his shoulder prevented his fall. Chris yanked him back and the boy managed to regain his balance. He brushed Chris’s hand away, glaring at him as if he were some lowly brute from the alehouse.

 

Chris’s temper flared at the visible lack of respect. “And who might I ask is in such a hurry to board the ship that he does not have a salute for her _first mate_?” he inquired.

 

The boy’s cheeks grew a shade redder when he realized Chris was an officer, but he held his gaze, his eyes defiant. Chris leaned in until he was towering over the greenie, close enough for the boy to scent him, and his round little face went slack the moment he realized Chris was an alpha.

 

“I-I…” the boy stammered, his gaze dropping to his own lacquered boots.

 

Chris felt a rush of satisfaction at the show of submission, for high-born betas with bloated egos and delusions of moral superiority never failed to get under his skin. He grabbed the boy by the collar of his coat and made a show of scenting him, his nostrils flaring with his deep inhales. The boy smelled like a typical beta, but there was a trace of something sweet underneath it all. It was hard to discern with the smell of whale oil and fish guts tainting the air, but something about it confused Chris’s normally unerring nose. He leaned back and gave the boy a dubious look.

 

“Thomas!”

 

They both turned their eyes to the wharf where the Captain was making his way back to the ship, his smile bright. He paused in his steps when he noticed the way Chris was squeezing the boy’s blouse in his fist.

 

“Is there a problem, Mister Hemsworth?” Abbott asked, his eyes apprehensive. “Has my nephew given you a reason to deny him permission to come aboard?”

 

“Nephew?” Chris echoed. He released his hold, and the whelp had the gall to look a little smug as his uncle placed a protective hand on his shoulder.

 

“Yes, Thomas is my sister’s eldest son and will join us on his first voyage. It will be a most exciting experience.”

 

Abbott flashed his nephew a broad, almost paternal smile, and Chris watched as he led Thomas up along the gangway. The boy looked over his shoulder. He threw Chris a withering glare, but his cheeks dimpled with a haughty little smile. Chris scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. Oh, he would keep his eye on this one.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tom despised every aspect of his new life aboard the Tailwind. Their quarters in the steerage were cramped and poorly lit and every surface stank of fish and tar and musky alpha sweat. He was forced to sleep in a tiny bunk with twelve other betas crammed into the small space below the main deck, and while his uncle and the officers dined in the Captain’s private quarters with fine silverware, Tom was made to sup from a wooden tub. A tub! The lump of salted meat they were served was so revolting that Tom felt ill after every meal, and the way the ship lurched from side to side certainly didn’t help the matter.

 

Oh, how he resented his father for sending him here, to this Hell on Earth, though even Hell must not have stunk so much. Tom had never asked for any of this, never wanted to come, happy with his life in their cozy little home on Pleasant Street*. He missed his books and his sketching tools, missed roaming the sandy shores and windy hills of his dear Nantucket. He was even beginning to think fondly of the annoying little pranks his sisters used to play on him and the thought of being away from his family for the next two or three years made his heart despair. Why wasn’t it enough that Uncle Edwin had carried on the family tradition of whaling? Why did Tom have to come? Had he been allowed to make his own choices, he would have made his father see that there was more to life than sailing the seas in search of its beastly creatures.

 

_(*_ _Shipowners and people of high status in Nantucket lived on Pleasant Street, up on the hill and far from the stench of the wharves.)_

 

The coast was barely behind them, but he was already full of bruises and tiny cuts from the never-ending chores and daily drills. The bully of a first mate had it in for him, hounding his every step and looming over him like a permanent rain cloud. Tom hated the overbearing alpha almost as much as he hated his father, for Hemsworth was a brute, his weather-beaten face twisted to a perpetual scowl, his voice gruff and his language coarse. He had a hair-trigger temper and Tom had seen the alpha fly into a rage over the most trivial things. Many of Tom’s new shipmates had no previous experience, but Hemsworth knew no mercy as he corrected them after every mistake, his deep bellows and colorful curses already part of their daily life aboard the ship. The only time Tom got to be rid of Hemsworth’s leering and barking was in the evenings when he crawled into his bunk for what little sleep he was allowed to have, his body full of new aches and pains.

 

The gossip in the steerage revealed that Hemsworth hailed from Cape Cod, and Tom learned the man had thought himself worthy of the title of Captain until justice was served and Uncle Edwin was given what was rightfully his. Some of the wilder stories claimed the alpha had even been to jail for drunken scuffles at the public house, and how dare such a man think himself above Tom and order him around as if he were some common off-island omega?

 

They were all called on deck after the morning’s portion of hard-tack and watery porridge, and Tom followed the other green hands up through the hatch. His uncle stood at the helm while Hemsworth prowled the deck, his gaze measuring. Tom thought it best to linger in the back and he was able to hide himself behind Buckley and Edwards, for he was a little smaller than the average beta. As if he’d been able to read Tom’s mind, Hemsworth’s ice blue stare found him through the crowd and the first mate flashed him a telltale sneer that promised imminent suffering for Tom.

 

“It is time to assign the crews for each boat,” his uncle announced from the helm, motioning at the empty whaling boats attached to the sides of the ship.

 

“Know that I expect every man in my crew to be able to launch that boat in less than a minute,” Hemsworth added, and Tom pitied any man who had the misfortune of landing a position as the alpha’s oarsman.

 

He was confident his uncle would pick him for his own crew, but to his utter surprise many of the men threw wistful looks in Hemsworth’s direction, a position in the first mate’s boat somehow more coveted than in the Captain’s. Tom felt a surge of baffled outrage on his uncle’s behalf, wondering what in God’s name would make the gruff alpha the better option over the ship’s own Captain.

 

The officers held the responsibility of commanding the boat and the second most important position was that of the boatsteerer. There were excited whoops and jealous grumbles when names were called for the task. Each boat was assigned two alphas, which Tom supposed was a necessary evil. He was glad to see most of the men called to his uncle’s boat were Nantucketers, anticipation bubbling in his chest, for there was only one position left to fill. Edwin turned his eyes to Tom, about to call his name, but Hemsworth beat him to it. The alpha had circled behind Tom’s back and Tom gasped as Hemsworth clasped his neck with his massive hand, his grip possessive.

 

“Seems to me like there should be more Nantucketers in my boat. You don’t mind if I make the boy my after oarsman, do you, Cap’n?”

 

“Well, I, uh…” his uncle sputtered, clearly as surprised as Tom. “I had intended-“

 

“Wouldn’t want anyone thinking the lad is abusing the bond of family, would we, _sir_?” Hemsworth drawled.

 

There were quiet murmurs of agreement from the men around them, and Tom blushed at the unwanted attention. Edwin shook his head, his eyes apologetic as he glanced at Tom. “No, of course not,” he acquiesced.

 

Hemsworth’s hand on Tom’s neck felt like a brand, his scent almost overpowering as he towered over Tom, and it appeared even his uncle could not protect him from the strong-willed first mate. Hemsworth gave his hair a pull, forcing Tom to meet his gaze. The alpha smiled at him, the gesture void of humor.

 

“You better not disappoint me, kid. If you get my harpoon lines tangled I’m gonna spank you so hard you won’t sit for a week.”

 

He released his hold on Tom’s hair and began to prowl the deck in search of his next victim. Tom let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his hands flying to cup his buttocks. Oh he truly was in Hell.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The crew was fairly able-bodied, even if the betas outnumbered the alphas, and Chris knew many of the older crew members, having sailed with them when he was still a boatsteerer. Even their newly minted Captain was liked by the crew, for he was well-mannered and friendly with the men. Chris was not so easily convinced. A fancy uniform and good breeding did not make one a leader of men, and Chris had yet to see Abbott in a situation that required the Captain to exercise any real leadership. He could already see the folly in the beta’s gentlemanly and over-friendly conduct, for this was no pleasure cruise.

 

They were approaching the Azores by the end of September with no whale sightings to speak of, but the empty barrels in the hold only drove the men to try twice as hard. They dropped anchor for a few days near Santa Maria to refill their provisions and their luck finally turned a week after their departure.

 

The act of butchering a whale’s body was no pleasant deed, but it was part of the job and something every whaleman had to grow accustomed to. Chris made certain each young greenie was present the day they towed their first kill back to the ship for the bloody harvest. The more seasoned sailors poked holes into the whale’s thick skin to attach it to the side of the ship with a giant hook and went to work. Chris watched as the animal was stripped of its blubber, but the revolting sight barely made him flinch. He took a pull of whiskey from his flask and wiped a few drops under his nostrils, the malty fumes preferable to the stench of blubber.

 

The hunk of meat was ripped from the whale’s body and suspended from the hook, dripping oil and blood all over the deck as it was lowered into the blubber room where some of the greenies were waiting to cut it into smaller pieces. It took the crew hours to process the large animal and they had to work in shifts. Chris returned after a few hours of restless sleep in his cabin and saw Abbott had finally seen fit to join them. The Captain was not expected to participate in the skinning, but Chris felt his temper flare when he noticed Tom was at his uncle’s side, not a stain on his shiny shoes while the rest of the crew was covered in grime and guts. If the boy thought he could shirk from his duties because he was related to the ship’s Captain, he was sorely mistaken. Chris strode across the blood-stained deck, his eyes blazing.

 

“They’re about to decapitate the whale, sir,” he announced. “I believe the boy should come and watch.”

 

Tom’s nose wrinkled at the mere suggestion of having to witness such horrors and he shook his head, looking at his uncle with imploring eyes. Chris, too, leveled Abbott with a hard stare, one that no beta would dare resist no matter what their hierarchy aboard the ship dictated. And there was nothing the Captain could do or say to get Thomas off the hook, for they both knew this was all part of the job they had signed for, even his little nephew.

 

“I believe Mister Hemsworth is right, Tom, you should go and see how it’s done,” Abbott agreed.

 

Tom did not bother to conceal his reluctance, sulking like the spoiled brat that he was as Chris grabbed the boy by his shoulder. Tom struggled in his grip, his shoes skidding on the slippery deck and Chris snarled at him through his clenched teeth, certain he had never seen such an insolent beta before.

 

He pressed the boy against the bulwark and forced Tom to watch as the men cut off the whale’s head. It was not a pretty sight, but Chris kept his hand on Tom’s neck to make sure he didn’t turn his head away. The stench of blood and warm innards that rose from the carcass was repulsive, and Chris heard the boy spill his supper into the sea when the whale’s giant head was finally separated from the rest of its body. The ship swayed as the hunk of meat was hauled up from the water and lowered on the deck with a heavy, wet splat, some of the blood from the severed vessels painting Tom’s pale cheeks crimson. The boy cried out and tried to back away, but Chris grabbed a hold of his slender jaw to make sure he watched as the men began to cut a large hole in the front of the head to get to the precious spermaceti.

 

He bent down and pressed his mouth to Tom’s ear, smile gleeful. “Pay attention, boy, because when those buckets run empty, _you’ll_ be crawling inside that head to get the oil with your bare hands.”

 

The whimper that escaped Tom’s mouth was beyond satisfying, but Chris’s mirth gave way to surprise when he felt the boy go slack in his hold. Tom slumped against Chris’s chest, his legs giving out as his head lolled back, resting against Chris’s bicep. Chris let out an amused chuckle as he stared at the unconscious boy in his arms. He’d never had one of the greenies faint on him before. There were some whistles and amused barks of laughter from the men as they dug deeper into the hole to gather more oil. Chris gave Tom’s cheeks a light slap and watched as the boy began to regain consciousness, his lashes fanning against his cheeks. He opened his eyes gradually, and Chris plastered a mockingly sweet smile on his face as Tom finally met his gaze.

 

“Welcome back, sweetheart.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was finally over, but the air still reeked of pungent boiling smoke, and the deck had gained a crimson coat. What remained of the whale after their harvest was left for the sharks, and Tom stood at the stern, watching the carcass as it floated in the grey sea like a bloody hill of meat, bones and guts. He’d emptied his stomach so many times since last night that he didn’t think he had anything left to spew, but still he gagged at the sight, nothing but bitter acid rising to his mouth.

 

Tom felt hollow as he stared at the floating mound of meat. Like every boy born on Nantucket, Tom knew their island thrived from the slaughter of these animals. His own father had spent half of his life at sea, and to men like him a whale was merely a source of income, nothing more and nothing less. But none of the stories his father had told him by his bedside at night had prepared him for the horrors he’d seen last night. Why anyone would choose this life was beyond Tom.

 

He startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and was relieved to see it belonged to his uncle. Edwin gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze, his eyes compassionate. They both stiffened when Hemsworth and the second mate walked by the helm, deep in conversation. Tom could smell his alpha stench in the wind and his mouth drew into a disgusted line.

 

“Did you see what he made me do?” Tom motioned at his clothes, ruined by bloody innards and the contents of his own stomach. “I was inside the head for so long I nearly drowned in my own vomit!”

 

“You’re not the first young lad to be sent inside a whale’s head, Tom. This is not an easy life, but you will get used to it,” his uncle said, voice sympathetic but stern, allowing no further arguments. “Come, there is much cleaning to be done. It will be a busy day.”

 

Tom felt a little betrayed by Edwin’s lack of outrage on his behalf, but he allowed himself to be led down to the main deck where Buckley and Hill were already washing away the blood and grime under Hemsworth’s supervision. The alpha had removed his coat and vest and Tom watched as he pulled his blood-stained blouse over his head, tossing it in the growing pile of dirty slops headed for a washing. His bronzed skin was mottled with scars, and between the silvery lines were inked designs of ships and sea creatures. Tom was certain each mark had a story to it and for a brief moment, he was curious to study the tattooed mementos closer. He followed the coiling shape of a sea serpent where it slithered down the alpha’s back, its tail disappearing under his low-hanging trousers.

 

Tom’s own family consisted of a long line of good, respectable betas and his father had rarely allowed Tom to be around alphas unsupervised, even if they tended to behave themselves around betas. There was something wild and almost animalistic about them, their volatile natures and inherent arrogance making them unpredictable, though it was also said that no creature on God’s green earth was as loyal as a mated alpha. Tom felt his skin pebble as he observed the way Hemsworth bellowed his orders at the deckhands, his voice deep and impossible to ignore.

 

“Put your shoulders to the wheel, lads! I want this deck clean and shining by eight bells,” Hemsworth barked, stomping down the length of the ship. Tom fought the instinctual urge to cower when he saw the alpha approach him. “You too, kid. Take off your shirt and start scrubbing.”

 

Tom had no desire to strip in public, but the choice was taken away from him when Hemsworth grabbed the hem of his blouse and tugged it over his head. Tom let out an indignant little cry and brought his hands up to shield his naked chest from the alpha’s scrutiny. Hemsworth huffed at Tom’s bashful display and presented him with a worn, old brush, the bristles already stained with blood.

 

Tom pursed his lips, his scowl affronted, for hadn’t the bully of an alpha already made him suffer enough for one day?

 

He received his answer when Hemsworth let out an amused scoff. “Don’t you sulk at me, boy. At least I didn’t make you sleep inside that head.” He snapped his fingers and pointed at the deck. “Down you go. I want to be able to see my reflection from that deck when I come back.”

 

Tom bristled at the command and the flippant tone it was delivered in. The alpha was ordering him around as if he were some dirty mongrel! He puffed up his chest, his eyes defiant even as he saw the telltale flash of ire in Hemsworth’s pale eyes. He flung the brush from his hand and they both watched as it landed between the alpha’s feet.

 

Hemsworth snapped his head up, his canines exposed as he grabbed Tom by his shoulder. “I said _get down, boy_.”

 

Tom gasped, something deep inside him shifting at the contact. He stared at the alpha’s large, blood-stained paw where it rested on his shoulder, his musky scent so strong that Tom felt his head swim. There was a tug in his belly, a whisper of _something_ , a strange sensation he could not put into words. He shivered as he fought to stay on his feet, the staccato beat of his heart in his ears drowning out the voices around him.

 

Hemsworth released his hold of Tom’s shoulder, the stern look on his face wavering. “What’s the matter with you?”

 

Tom shook his head. “N-nothing, sir,” he gasped, dropping down to his knees, fumbling for the brush. He squeezed his eyes shut but the queer sensation lingered, clouding his head like the plumes of smoke from the try-pots last night. Tom wrapped his trembling fingers around the brush and began to scrub the bloody boards, too afraid to look up. He let out a stuttering breath when Hemsworth finally returned to the prow, but Tom felt the weight of the alpha’s gaze long after he was gone.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

By mid-October they were sailing towards the Falkland Islands along the coast of South America and the casks in their hold were filling up steadily. They’d had good fortune south of Cape Verde and the amount of oil they had boiled in the last two weeks alone was more than anyone had hoped for. Chris walked down the deck, surveying the men as they busied themselves with the daily chores that kept them afloat. Most of the young greenies were hard at work, sharpening the harpoons and arranging the tools, all except Tom, who sat on a coil of rope, studying the palms of his own hands. And hadn’t Chris _just_ ordered the boy to climb the ratlines to join Mister Lovell in the crow’s nest?

 

He strode across the deck, his steps loud enough to alert Tom to his presence. The boy jumped up from the coil of rope and had the good sense to look ashamed for being caught idling. The two crewmen behind them took note of Chris’s stormy expression and slunk back, disappearing behind the cookhouse.

 

“I thought I ordered you to climb up and join Mister Lovell in the crow’s nest,” Chris barked.

 

Tom shook his head, his mouth pursed into a sullen little bow. “I can’t,” he huffed.

 

“ _You can’t?_ ” Chris folded his arms over his chest. “Don’t tell me you’ve developed a sudden fear of heights.” He’d sent Tom up to the crow’s nest plenty of times, but the boy was inexperienced and soft in ways the other young lads weren’t, too pampered and unused to physical labor, clearly more suited for a position at some cozy office. What he was doing aboard a whaling ship when he appeared to despise every aspect of the job was anyone’s guess.

 

“I can’t use my hands,” Tom whined.

 

“And why the hell not?”

 

Tom held up his hands and Chris saw his palms were covered in blisters from vigorous rowing and mild rope burn.

 

_Soft and pampered._

 

The men around them pretended to work, but Chris could tell they had attracted an audience and he knew he had to set an example. “I gave you an order, boy. You’re climbing that mast.”

 

“No.”

 

“ _No_?” Chris revealed his canines and shoved Tom toward the ratlines, but the boy dug his heels in, his constant insolence and grousing reaching a new high.

 

“Unhand me, you coof!”

 

Chris’s nostrils flared at the insult and he spun the whelp around, lifting him up by his lapels. “Not only am I your superior on this vessel, I am also an _alpha,_ and you, _beta_ , will do as I say or face the consequences of your insubordination.”

 

Chris could smell the boy’s distress and he knew his threat had been effective. Tom’s startled eyes darted across the deck in search of his uncle, and Chris would be damned if he gave the brat a chance to weasel out of this. He pushed Tom to the ratlines so hard the boy lost his footing, the hold Chris had on his coat the only thing keeping him upright.

 

“You’ll climb that mast and you’ll not come down until I give you permission, you hear me?”

 

Chris lifted Tom up to the bulwark and placed his hands on the ratline. The boy let out an audible whine as Chris forced him to curl his fingers around the rough-hewn rope and Chris hesitated, something in his stomach rolling at the small, pained sound. He was no stranger to exercising discipline over betas, but it was as if something inside him was telling him to stay his hand.

 

Their audience had grown and Chris saw some of the young alphas had gathered around them to watch. They especially had to know that no offence, big or small, would go unpunished aboard their ship, and Chris drew his brows back into a scowl. “You climb or you get a flogging,” he said firmly.

 

Tom let out a quiet sniff as he began to climb, his hold on the worn ropes a little unsteady, but Chris kept his eyes on Tom, glaring at him and willing him to continue every time the boy looked down.

 

Abbott had been occupied in his cabin, but it appeared the man had heard Chris’s final bark of order and he was making his way to the main deck. “I believe I heard some shouting… Is there something I should be aware of, Mister Hemsworth?” the Captain asked, sounding a little agitated as his eyes darted between Chris and his nephew.

 

Chris squared his shoulders and crossed his arms over his chest. “Not to my knowledge, sir. Your nephew is simply carrying out the duties he was given,” Chris said.

 

“I see,” Abbott said, his voice clipped, but the man seemed to understand that any special treatment would only cause the others to grow resentful and take it out on Tom when the officers weren’t looking.

 

They both watched Tom’s ascent on the narrow ratlines as he reached the main course where another green hand was working on fastening the sail to the yard. Abbott licked his lips, shielding his face from the midday sun with a gloved hand.

 

“Is the boy alright? He seems a bit unsteady.”

 

“He’ll be fine. If we all avoided our duties because of a few blisters this ship would sink.”

 

“Blisters?” Chris could tell the Captain wanted to argue, but a whaler had to be hardy and worth his salt if he wanted to make his living sailing the seas. “You’re doing fine, Tom,” Abbott called out, trying to sound encouraging.

 

Tom glanced down, but he didn’t even notice his uncle, his affronted little scowl aimed solely at Chris. It took the boy a long time to reach the topgallant, but he seemed to freeze a few feet below the lookout’s perch. Abbott shifted his weight from foot to foot, worrying his chapped bottom lip as he watched his nephew balance on the ratlines high above their heads. Even Chris could see Tom’s climbing had become perilously unsteady and he felt the first whisper of worry as he realized the boy’s hands must have been in worse shape than he’d realized.

 

One of the older sailors, an alpha like Chris, cast him a worried look. “I believe the lad might be injured, Mister Hemsworth.”

 

Chris gave a nod, about to call Tom down, but Abbott beat him to it.

 

“It’s alright, Thomas, you may come down!” the Captain called. “Mister Buckley shall take your place.”

 

Tom had looped his arm around the rope and continued to hang on to the ratline, ignoring his uncle’s orders. Chris’s brow creased with worry and he ordered Lovell to climb down from the crow’s nest to check on Tom.

 

The lad descended the mast, nimble like a small monkey. “His hands are bleeding, sir”, the boy called, shaking his head, “something… something about him is queer.”

 

“That’s it, I shall bring him down myself,” Abbott announced. He removed his cocked hat, about to climb up, but Chris was faster, swinging himself up on the ratlines.

 

The muscles in his arms bulged as he pulled himself up to where Tom was huddled against the ropes. “It’s alright, Mister Lovell, you may return to your duties.”

 

Lovell climbed back to the crow’s nest above their heads, and Chris circled to Tom’s side. The boy was visibly distraught, shaking like a leaf, the look in his eyes vacant. The smell of fear surrounding him was almost suffocating.

 

“It’s alright, Tom,” Chris spoke softly. “I’m going to help you down.” He took a gentle hold of Tom’s hand and saw the blisters had burst open, the skin on his palms raw and bleeding. There was no way the kid was using them to climb down and Chris maneuvered himself so he was pressed as close to Tom as possible. “Can you climb onto my back?”

 

Tom sniffed and gave a small nod. Chris took a firm hold of the ropes and hunched down a little to help Tom wrap his lean arms around Chris’s shoulders. The boy squeezed the lapels of his coat with his bloodied hands and buried his face into the crook of Chris’s neck, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he began to pant, his shallow little breaths warm against Chris’s neck.

 

It was not uncommon for the more mild-mannered betas to lose control around alphas if they were feeling threatened or distressed, but Chris had never seen such a strong reaction before. His nostrils flared as he filled his lungs with Tom’s scent. Underneath the smell of fear was something else, something cloying and sweet that pierced Chris’s chest like a well-aimed harpoon. It dawned on him slowly, for he was not expecting it, having believed Tom to be a beta like the rest of the green hands, but there was no mistaking that scent, and the alpha in Chris knew what he smelled even if his brain refused to believe it.

 

Tom was an omega.

 

He had to tighten his hold on the ropes as his breath caught in his throat. “Christ Almighty…”

 

The smell was not very strong, for Tom was likely only just beginning to present as an omega. Most betas with dormant omega heredity went through the shift by the time they were fourteen or fifteen, but Tom, he had been told, was seventeen. It was rare for a boy his age to shift, but such things were not unheard of among the more privileged children who lived sheltered lives. Tom’s scent would most likely remain undetected for a while longer if he didn’t come under great duress and kept his distance from the alphas, but an unclaimed omega on a sailing vessel was always a huge risk. Their presence alone was enough to cause power struggles among the alphas, but if an omega went into heat in the cramped quarters there would be absolute chaos.

 

Tom let out a quiet whimper, and Chris knew the boy must have been reacting to his alpha scent. The grip on his coat grew tighter and Tom’s chest rose and fell so fast that the boy was going to pass out if Chris didn’t manage to calm him. He tightened his hold on the ropes and reached back with his other hand, tugging the collar of Tom’s coat aside to settle his fingers over the tensed up muscle where the boy’s neck joined his shoulder.

 

“Shh, it’s alright, Tom,” Chris crooned, stroking at the spot where an alpha would one day lay their claim and mark the boy. “It’s alright.”

 

The gentling worked and Chris felt Tom’s breathing begin to settle. He’d never done it to anyone, but he’d seen it used on omegas back home in Nantucket. It was a private thing, meant to be shared between bonded mates only, but an alpha’s touch on the bonding muscle also worked on unclaimed omegas, all of them susceptible to an alpha’s touch. There were men who held no qualms about abusing the power they had over a defenseless omega and Chris had heard plenty of stories over the years, of omegas who’d been placated against their will to the point of unconsciousness.

 

He brushed his fingers over Tom’s neck one more time, careful not to overdo it. The boy was finally calm and docile against his back, his cheek resting on Chris’s shoulder. He steeled his own nerves and began to climb down the narrow ratlines.

 

The Captain reached for Tom the moment Chris’s boots hit the solid wood of the deck, but the boy refused to let go, tightening his hold around Chris’s neck. “Tom, whatever is the matter?” Abbott asked, his voice thick with worry.

 

Chris took hold of Tom’s bloodied hands and pried them open, lifting the boy off his back, breathing a little easier when he was no longer surrounded by Tom’s scent. Tom blinked, still a bit dazed, but whatever spell had come over him up on the ratlines was beginning to pass. He threw Chris an indignant glare as he cradled his bleeding hands against his chest, and Chris looked away, the bout of shame he felt for being so rough with an omega hard to ignore.

 

“You should see Mister Shaw belowdecks, Tom. He’ll patch up your hands,” Abbott said gently, escorting his nephew toward the main hatch.

 

The men went back to their duties and Chris made his way to the officers’ quarters, for he knew he had to share his newfound knowledge with Abbott. The Captain returned a few moments later, surprised to find Chris waiting by his desk.

 

Chris had no desire to reveal his regret over his own conduct to Abbott and he simply stared at the beta, willing him to reveal the boy’s condition.

 

“My nephew is fine,” Abbott said finally. “His hands will heal soon enough, but I admit that I don’t quite know what had him so shaken up on the ratlines.”

 

“I’m afraid I do, sir,” Chris said, face grim. He crossed the room and peered into the small hallway beyond the door to ensure they were alone, and Abbott gave him a confused look as Chris turned the bolt to lock the door.

 

“Pray tell, what topic requires such secrecy, Mister Hemsworth?”

 

Chris’s voice was a low murmur when he spoke. “Are you aware that your nephew is an omega?”

 

Abbott’s face fell at the question. He let out a nervous bark of laughter, gaping at Chris as if he were a raving lunatic. “I beg your pardon?”

 

“He’s only just began to present, but I smelled him myself.”

 

Abbott shook his head, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for something to say. “You must be mistaken! Mister Hemsworth, I assure you-“

 

“It’s no mistake,” Chris insisted, eyes dead serious. He could still smell traces of Tom’s scent on his own clothes and where the boy’s moist breaths had warmed his skin. “It’s not yet so strong that one will take note of it, but he is an omega, of that I’m sure.”

 

Abbott’s face grew pale, and in that moment, Chris almost felt sorry for the man. “It can’t be… He’s seventeen! And there hasn’t been an omega in our family for generations.” The man began to pace and his nervous energy was beginning to affect Chris too, making him irritable. “I should never have allowed him to come… His mother and I always knew sailing wasn’t in Tom’s blood, but his father insisted.”

 

That certainly explained the boy’s sullen attitude, for omegas were rarely suited for the kind of hardship life aboard a whaling vessel entailed, their gentle, nurturing natures better suited for child-rearing and jobs that required more intellect than brute force.

 

Abbott removed his hat and began to twist and turn it in his hands. “He’s an unclaimed omega on a sailing vessel in the middle of the Atlantic! What if – _what if he goes into heat_? Oh God-“

 

“Calm yourself, Mister Abbott,” Chris barked. He gave the beta’s shoulders a sobering shake, and only his status as an alpha allowed him such a breach of etiquette.

 

There were eight alphas aboard the ship, including Chris, and four of them were unbonded. It was not a large number, but it was certainly enough for them to do a serious amount of damage if Tom did have the misfortune of going into heat. Most omegas experienced their first heat the moment they were mature enough to mate, though some took a little longer if the circumstances were unfavorable or if the conditions didn’t offer the proper triggers.

 

“We are still weeks away from the next friendly port,” Abbott sighed, slumping down on his neatly made bunk.

 

“Aye…” Chris scratched his bristled chin, considering their options. “Perhaps we should force the boy to bond with one of the alphas in the crew.”

 

Abbott’s eyes grew wide with overt horror at the mere suggestion of forcing a mate on his young nephew against his will, and even Chris knew such a thing was cruel, for mating bonds were permanent, severed only by the loss of ones mate.  “Absolutely not!” Abbott declared, and it was the first time Chris had heard such clear authority in his voice.

 

“He’s almost eighteen, his first heat is already long-due-“

 

“And who shall we bond him to? _You?_ ” Abbott stared at Chris down the bridge of his long nose, the disgusted slant of his mouth revealing what he thought of someone of Chris’s status laying a claim on his nephew. “You, Mister Hemsworth, are the son of a sheepherder from Cape Cod, a sailor with no roots and nothing to offer. And don’t think I haven’t heard of your familiarity with the inside of a jail cell, for it appears you’ve made a habit of visiting one every time you set foot on land.”

 

It was not a kind assessment and hearing it from a man like Abbott was enough to make Chris seethe, but he could not deny the truth behind each word. He doubted any of the alphas aboard the ship were a suitable match for a young omega like Tom whose family must have wanted the boy to marry someone of his own status. But they were in the middle of the Atlantic and that choice was no longer available to him.

 

“You and I both know the kind of damage unbonded alphas can do when they’re competing for a fertile omega.”

 

“And why should Tom have to pay for the fact that you and your brutish kind cannot control yourselves?” Abbott snapped.

 

Chris could smell the beta’s frustration and part of him may have even shared it, for no one could deny the unfair lot omegas had been dealt in their society. “I don’t make the rules,” Chris sighed. “But if your nephew goes into his first heat-”

 

“ _If_ such a dreadful thing should happen,” Abbott interrupted, his expression pained, “then, and only then, shall we bond him to one of the alphas in our crew. But it will be Thomas’s decision. _He_ will choose his alpha, even if his options are… limited.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Not much changed in the first few days after the discovery about Tom’s omega nature was made. They maintained their course in the hopes of arranging Tom safe passage home on one of the merchant vessels designed to transport omegas across the seas. The boy did not seem to suspect a thing, believing himself to be a beta like many of the young lads aboard the ship, and both Chris and the Captain thought it was best that Tom was kept in the dark, for the truth would likely shock him and send him into a panic. The boy glowered at Chris every time their eyes met across the deck, his behavior as grating as it had always been, and there were days when Chris truly struggled to keep himself from lashing out, despising the way he was forced to tiptoe around the omega.

 

Similar secrecy was to be maintained with the rest of the crew, for they could not risk rousing the men’s suspicions. The alphas had separate sleeping quarters in the forecastle, and Chris did his best to assign the unbonded alphas with duties that kept them under his watchful eye whenever Tom was nearby.

 

The alphas who had already taken a mate would be able to scent Tom, but they would not be tempted by him, loyal to their own omegas. Abbott hovered over his nephew like a mother hen, his eyes suspicious whenever he turned them on Chris, for he, too, was an alpha and posed as much a threat as the others. Chris had fucked his share of betas during the short stints on land between voyages, and he liked to believe he was in control of his own urges, but he had never known the temptation that was an omega in heat. He’d heard stories of the madness that overcame any unbonded alpha when exposed to the irresistible scent of an omega ripe for the plucking. One of the mates in his previous crew had told a harrowing tale of a merchant ship that lost nearly half of her crew when a foolish beta had smuggled an omega from one of the nearby islands aboard the ship for a romp. The girl had gone into her first heat from the sheer proximity to all the alphas and what followed was a slaughter as the crazed alphas fought each other for the right to claim the fertile omega.

 

Chris had only had one rut in his life, the one every alpha went through when they came of age, his memories of the experience hazy. Most alphas tended to mature later in life and Chris had been a boy of eighteen when the madness of rut had struck him. He’d spent most of it behind bars in a small town on Barbados after his failed attempt at challenging two of the mates for an omega prostitute, and when he came back to his senses, he discovered his crew had sailed on without him. It wasn’t the last time Chris found himself behind bars, but like most unbonded alphas, he found a way to satisfy his needs at Mrs Lawrence’s boarding house whenever they returned home to Nantucket.

 

So far no one seemed to be aware of the omega presence among them, though Chris did take note of the way Mister Edwards, a twenty-year-old Nantucketer often paused what he was doing if Tom happened to be nearby. He would scent the air, visibly confused, for the thought that there was an omega aboard the ship did not even cross his mind. Still, Chris knew it was only a matter of time before the boy’s scent became potent enough for everyone to notice. He only hoped they might reach land before calamity struck.

 

Chris had the first watch that night, and the sea around them was calm, barely a breeze in the sails. He was seated on a box of firewood near the cookhouse, working on a scrimshaw carving to add to his collection, this one of a pair of gulls mid-flight. His eyes were heavy with sleep, but his senses perked up when he heard a dull thud at the prow. The hatch was pushed open and Tom’s curly head poked up from the staircase. He was meant to be in his bunk in the steerage, for Chris had made certain Tom had the morning watch with the third mate, who was a beta like the Captain.

 

The boy turned his face left and right, his brow furrowed with a confused frown. It hadn’t even occurred to Chris that _Tom_ might be the one to initiate something until he saw the way the boy began to scent the air. He licked his narrow, pink lips, his nose twitching as he took in the different smells around him. Tar, wood, oil, the salty smell of the ocean – and the musk of two unbonded alphas. Tom’s eyes landed on Mister Edwards who stood a few feet away from him, checking the rigging on one of the whale boats. Chris watched as the boy tugged on the collar of his blouse to scratch at his shoulder. Tom’s mouth fell open and he began to pant, the confusion on his face deepening. He took a few steps towards Edwards, dragging his feet as if he were sleep-walking.

 

Realizing what was about to happen, Chris dropped his carving and rushed towards the prow, his hurried steps catching the attention of Mister Buckley at the helm.

 

“Mister Hemsworth? What is it? Have you spotted a whale, sir?”

 

Chris didn’t even look at the beta, his eyes fixed on Tom and Edwards. Tom continued to approach the young alpha, his movements staggering as he scented the air, the newly awakened omega in him in control. Most of the alphas aboard the ship were several years Tom’s senior, and Edwards, who was closer to Tom’s own age, was likely the most suitable match for the boy should the need for him to pick a mate arise.

 

Chris felt a rush of jealous fury cloud his mind at the thought of the other alpha laying claim on the omega. He swiped at the rack of harpoons, shoving it aside as he made his way to the prow, the loud clatter enough to startle Tom out from his stupor. Chris meant to pull Tom away from Edwards, but to both their surprise, his arms reached for the alpha instead.

 

He grabbed Edwards by his shoulder and let out a low, rumbling snarl, his canines bared, the gesture both a warning and a show of dominance. The younger alpha appeared visibly shocked by the sudden assault and he yelped when Chris pushed him down on the deck. Chris rolled his shoulders back, his stance defensive as he settled himself between Tom and the rival alpha. Edwards stared at him, his own canines exposed as his instincts took hold of him, the difference in rank between them forgotten. He stood up, but one throaty growl from Chris was enough to send him cowering.

 

Good. The omega was _his_. Chris spun around to face Tom, but Edwards regained his courage the moment his back was turned. He lunged at Chris and they went rolling down the deck in a jumble of limbs and angry snarls. Chris had the upper hand, for he was older and much larger than Edwards, and the fight was over almost as suddenly as it had begun. Chris forced the youth’s arms down, pinning his wrists against the worn wood of the deck. He bared his canines once more, and this time Edwards submitted, accepting defeat.

 

Chris rolled up to his feet and made a lunge for Tom who was huddled against the bulwark, his head buried between his knees. He grabbed the omega by his shoulders and hauled him up, about to bury his face in Tom’s neck, the desire to mark him with his teeth and scent overwhelming.

 

“Mister Hemsworth!”

 

Someone was yelling, calling his name, but Chris barely heard it. He tilted Tom’s neck to the side and exposed his bonding muscle, the scent irresistible. A light from a nearby lantern flashed in the corner of his eye like the beacon of a light house, drawing him back from imminent doom.

 

“Mister Hemsworth! Release the boy at once,” Abbott commanded, his shrill voice finally breaking through the haze of Chris’s mind.

 

He shook his head, his wits slowly returning. He released his hold on Tom’s shoulders as if he’d been burnt, and Abbott yanked the boy away from him, shielding Tom with his own body. Mister Buckley, who had been the one to fetch the Captain went to Mister Edwards and helped him up. The young alpha was still visibly shaken by the sudden assault, but it didn’t appear he had any idea Tom had been the cause of it.

 

“I’m sorry, sir,” Edwards sputtered, bowing his head to Chris, thinking he had somehow offended an officer.

 

Chris gave a gruff rumble of acknowledgment, for it was easier for all their sakes to let the boy think he was at fault.

 

“Await for me in my cabin, Mister Hemsworth,” Abbott said, voice eerily serene. “The rest of you, return to your posts.”

 

Chris felt Tom’s startled eyes follow him as he made his way to the hatch, but he was unable to meet the boy’s gaze, his cheeks burning with shame. He hadn’t lost control like that since he had his first rut. It was as if he hadn’t even been aware of his own body, his mind taken over by some savage beast.

 

He paced around the Captain’s quarters as he waited for Abbott to join him, trying to ignore the slight tremble in his hand as he ran his fingers through his tousled hair. The small cabin was neat and organized, the desk only containing a logbook and a small framed portrait of Abbott’s wife. Chris had never entertained the thought of taking a mate, especially one as reluctant as Tom. And still the alpha in him had wanted to possess the boy with every fiber of his being only a moment ago. He took a swipe at the unlit lantern hanging from a wooden beam next to his head, his anger over his own weakness boiling over. Tom’s family had offered patronage to Nantucket’s whaling industry for decades, and Chris knew any chance of him captaining his own ship would go down the drain should he lose control and claim the boy against his will.

 

He spun around when the door to the cabin was opened, and to his utter horror, Abbott wasn’t alone.

 

“Are you out of your mind?” Chris snarled as the Captain escorted Tom inside and closed the door behind them. He withdrew to the windows, but there was nowhere for him to go in the small room.

 

“Can’t you see how upset he is? I will not leave him alone after what just happened,” Abbott announced, but he did settle himself between Chris and his nephew, not that it would stop anything.

 

Chris could smell Tom’s fear and confusion even from across the cabin. He stole a quick glance at the boy, his shame resurfacing when he saw how shaken the omega was from having to witness a scuffle between two aggressive alphas.

 

“What were you doing on the deck, Tom?” Abbott asked in an effort to make sense of the night’s events. “Your watch doesn’t begin until morning.”

 

Tom shook his head, unable to answer, and Chris thought of the dazed look he’d witnessed in Tom’s eyes as the boy had scented the unclaimed alphas on deck. He crossed his arms and turned his gaze to Abbott. “We have to tell him.”

 

The Captain flinched, shaking his head. “No, not until we reach land.”

 

“Tell me what?” Tom asked, but both Chris and his uncle ignored him.

 

“He’s begun to scent the alphas,” Chris said, face grim. “It’s only a matter of time before he figures it out.”

 

Abbott looked horrified at the news, his eyes darting between Chris and his nephew.

 

“Uncle? What is he talking about?” Tom asked, finally stepping forth from behind Abbott’s back. He appeared almost angry at being ignored, the slant of his brows decidedly unhappy. “Please, tell me!”

 

Abbott fiddled with the hem of his coat, licking his lips nervously. “Thomas, it’s alright. It’s nothing to worry-“

 

“You’re an omega,” Chris said, stopping Abbott’s lies mid-sentence, and he could sense Tom’s shock before the boy even had time to react.

 

“ _What?”_ Tom shook his head, stumbling back a few steps until he hit the edge of the bed. “You lie! Father always said there are no omegas in the family, only betas.”

 

“I’m sorry, Thomas,” Abbott said, reaching out to place a comforting hand on Tom’s shoulder. “I fear it might be true.”

 

Tom’s eyes began to glisten with unshed tears as the implications of what it meant to be an omega aboard a sailing vessel dawned on him, and Chris had to fight the urge to go over and comfort the distressed omega.

 

“I still think we should force him to bond with one of the available alphas,” Chris said.

 

“ _No!_ ” The tears were finally rolling down his cheeks as Tom grabbed hold of his uncle’s sleeve, his eyes pleading. “Uncle, please, _no_!”

 

Abbott stared at the boy, utterly helpless. He shook his head at Chris, his eyes almost as pleading as Tom’s. “I cannot allow that, Mister Hemsworth. There must be another way.”

 

“What do you suggest? That we lock up all the alphas until we arrive at the next port? This ship can’t sail if the crew is defective.” He turned his eyes to Tom, his voice hard. “Every omega _needs_ an alpha, and only a bonded alpha can keep you safe on this ship.”

 

They had to know Chris was right, but Abbott remained adamant. He shook his head once more, and Chris saw the way he tightened his hold on Tom’s shoulder.

 

“I will not force a bond on my nephew unless the situation is most dire,” he announced, his voice final, and even the intensity of Chris’s stare could not shake the Captain’s resolve as he stood by his young nephew.

 

“Goddamn you, Abbott.” Chris shook his head, not bothering to hold back the angry snarl as he swiped the logbook and the portrait from the table. Tom let out a startled cry at the outburst and even the boy’s uncle failed to hide his flinch. “This is sheer madness…” Chris growled, storming out of the cabin.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The alpha’s angry energy lingered in the cabin even after Hemsworth’s departure, and Tom struggled to draw breath, his chest so tight it ached. He barely noticed as his uncle led him across the cabin and sat him down in the chair behind his desk. The next thing he knew, there was a glass of brandy in his hands and Tom emptied it with greedy swallows.

 

“Are you alright?” Edwin asked, leaning over the desk to brush his fingers through Tom’s unkempt curls.

 

Of course he was not alright! He was an omega! Not a beta like his father and his uncle, but an omega. A slave to his own body and its pathetic, primal needs, destined to be bound to some beast of an alpha. As the eldest son of one of Nantucket’s great whaling families, Tom’s options had always been limited, for he’d been destined to follow in his father’s footsteps since birth, but his world had never felt this confined, and he couldn’t fight the bitter tears as they continued to spill down his cheeks.

 

“I’m sorry, son,” Edwin murmured, his eyes sympathetic. “I never would have allowed you to come had I only known…”

 

The glass slipped from Tom’s hands and tumbled across the lacquered floor as he thought of the strange spell that had come over him in the middle of his sleep. He barely remembered getting out of his bunk, driven by a peculiar need he’d never felt before. The musky alpha scent that permeated every nook and cranny on the ship had only ever been a reminder of their beastly and coarse nature to Tom, but it was that very scent that had lured him up to the deck.

 

He had never felt so betrayed by his own body.

 

The thought of one of the alphas aboard the ship catching his scent and claiming him against his will was something Tom had never known to fear, but as he climbed out of his bunk the next morning, he could barely get his feet to move past the threshold that separated the steerage from the blubber room, for beyond the oil-stained cutting tables lay the entrance to the forecastle, yawning in the darkness like a great maw.

 

Something inside him had given way to this strange new thing, an awareness of sorts. It smoldered in his belly like a tiny spark and every inhale of the musky alpha scent threatened to ignite the flame of curiosity into genuine need. Tom could sense the alphas inside the forecastle, and for a brief moment he was torn between looking away and stepping into their lair like a lamb that goes willingly to its slaughter.

 

He was pushed aside by Mister Hughes and Mister Gilbert as they made their way to the main hatch. Tom scurried after the two mates and followed them to the staircase. Hughes was an alpha like their first mate, but unlike Hemsworth, the middle-aged man was already bonded and Tom felt no danger from him.

 

He waited at the bottom of the stairs as the men climbed to the deck, about to set his foot on the ladder when a dark shadow fell over him, and looking up, Tom saw Hemsworth’s imposing figure at the other end of the stairs. He felt his heart race in his chest and he darted to hide behind one of the large boiling pots as the alpha stomped down the creaky steps. To Tom’s surprise Hemsworth didn’t even acknowledge him, strolling right past him, his face set in a grim scowl as he stalked towards the officers’ cabins.

 

Tom had wished to be invisible from the moment they set sail from Nantucket, for Hemsworth truly was the worst of them all, a big brute and a bully, no doubt taking pleasure in the torment he had rained on Tom during the long months of their voyage. But some mad part of him was drawn to the coarse alpha in spite of all the hardship the man had put him through, for Hemsworth was strong and capable, an alpha in his prime, and somehow the cold indifference made Tom all the more desperate to catch his eye. It pained him to admit it, but he could finally understand why the gruff first mate appeared to inspire such loyalty in the men, for Hemsworth was made to lead, able to take control in any situation in ways his uncle rarely did. He may not have had the uniform to show it, but the command of the ship belonged to Hemsworth.

 

The scent of the alpha lingered in the air like a trail of bread crumbs, intoxicating in its potency. Tom’s eyes rolled back in his head as it weaved its way to his nostrils and he found himself stumbling back into the steerage. His vision dimmed at the corners and he felt as if he were in a dream as his feet carried him to the closed door that separated the steerage from the officers’ cabins, forbidden to green hands like Tom without an invitation. The men in their bunks were fast asleep after their watch had ended and no one stopped him as Tom let himself into the bear’s den.

 

The scent around him was almost overwhelming and Tom inhaled it with greedy little sniffs as he stumbled on. His uncle’s domain lay behind another closed door further down the corridor and the mates slept in small alcoves near the hull. Two of the bunks were empty, but Tom’s senses led him to the final alcove where the alpha was seated on his bed, about to turn in for a few hours of sleep.

 

Hemsworth’s nostrils flared and he jerked his head up, the look in his eyes startled. “What the _hell_ are you doing in here, kid?” the alpha snarled. He moved so fast that Tom barely had time to react before he was being dragged towards the door. “You can’t be in here.”

 

“Please…” Tom whimpered, the spark in his belly finally igniting. The blaze of it spread down to his loins and he felt the alpha stumble as the scent of Tom’s need reached his nostrils.

 

Hemsworth shook his head as if he’d been physically hit, his grip on Tom’s jacket tightening. “I can’t- I can’t be near you,” he grunted, but the blue of his eyes was swallowed up by a ring of black as the predator in him won the struggle. Tom found himself pinned against the lacquered wood of one of the small storage cabinets, Hemsworth’s breath hot against his throat. He clutched at the alpha’s wind-swept hair as he felt the brush of canines on his skin, craning his neck in a willing offer.

 

There was a tentative flick of tongue against his bare skin, followed by a sharp, almost startled inhale, and Tom fell on his knees as the alpha stumbled away from him, his large chest heaving with his labored breaths. He faced the wall of his alcove, refusing to meet Tom’s eyes as he growled, “Get out. _Now_.”

 

The wave of anger from the alpha was enough to startle Tom out of his reverie and he blinked his eyes, finally aware of his surroundings. He was ceased by a wave of panic and he scrambled up to his feet, frozen to the spot. “I’m sorry, sir, I-I…”

 

Hemsworth sensed his fear and threw Tom an apologetic look over his shoulder, his eyes pleading. “Please, Tom… Just go.”

 

Tom forced himself to move, his heart racing in his chest as he rushed out and made a beeline to his own bunk, curling under the threadbare blanket and closing his eyes from the world.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The vision of Tom in his cabin, his neck exposed and desperate for a claim haunted Chris through his waking hours and followed him to his dreams. He woke up hard almost every morning, the ache in his knot difficult to ignore, and he had never been this uncomfortable in his own skin. He kept his distance from the boy, letting the other mates handle the greenies while he busied himself with tasks that allowed him to seek some solitude, and though Tom had made no further attempts to approach him, Chris could smell his unique scent whenever he was nearby, felt the jittery energy he emitted even through the thick wood of the hull that separated them at night.

 

Chris did not agree with Abbott’s idiotic decision to wait for the inevitable and he and the Captain barely exchanged words unless they absolutely had to. Abbott was constantly nervous, unable to mask his worry for his nephew, and the alphas in the crew sensed the beta’s weakness like a predator sniffing out potential prey. They were becoming increasingly cocky, the imbalance in the hierarchy fueling their own need to command, and more than once, Chris had to interfere and subdue some of the younger alphas by force when the lads refused to follow a direct order from the Captain.

 

Tom stuck to his uncle as much as he could, and Chris saw the way he flinched and cowered whenever one of the alphas passed him on the deck, the look in his eyes demure. Chris could tell the alphas were slowly becoming aware of Tom’s presence, the mood aboard the ship growing restless. He was conversing with Mister Hughes in the blubber room when he saw Hill and Edwards clamper down the stairs.

 

Chris spun around as the two young alphas rushed past them towards the steerage. He felt a surge of possessive anger, for it was obvious what had lured the boys away from their duties. He shoved his notes about the casks to Hughes and dashed after the alphas, bursting into the steerage just as Hill was preparing to lunge at Edwards. The betas that were present all glared at the alphas for having the gall to trespass on their territory, but most of them simply hid in their bunks as the alphas began their scuffle, driven to violence by the lone omega in the corner.

 

Tom was huddled behind a large barrel, his face buried in his hands. As if sensing Chris’s presence, the boy peered at him through his fingers. He got up to his feet, about to dash right past his wrestling crewmates, his need for an alpha’s protection overriding everything else. Chris raised his arm and shook his head, leveling Tom with a stern look. “ _No_ ,” he mouthed.

 

The boy obeyed, holding Chris’s gaze, his eyes alert.

 

“ _Stay_.”

 

Tom shrank back behind the barrel, hiding himself from view as Edwards threw Hill against the long dining table between the bunks, tin cups and wooden forks clattering around them.

 

“What is the meaning of this?” Mister Hughes bellowed from the door, hurrying in to separate the wrestling alphas.

 

Chris finally remembered his own duty and he grabbed Hill by the collar of his coat, dragging the snarling alpha out of the steerage. Both men were delivered a flogging for their scuffle, but fights between young alphas were not uncommon even without an omega to fuel their volatile tempers, and it was simply assumed that the fight had broken over some small offence. It was the Captain’s duty to deliver the harsher punishments and Chris watched as Abbott swung the cat-o-nine-tails over Edwards’ back. The beta’s face was set in a stony frown, but Chris saw the tremble in his arm every time the leather cords connected with the young alpha’s back.

 

Chris searched the faces in the crowd until his gaze landed on Tom, huddled between Buckley and Shaw. The boy’s expression was pinched, face reddened with what Chris guessed to be shame, for Tom must have felt himself responsible for the scene before them. His eyes squeezed shut every time the leather knots lashed the air and hit their target. Chris felt his own stomach roll, for he knew his close contact and harsh treatment of Tom had no doubt drawn his dormant omega nature to the surface. Part of him wanted to subdue Abbott and force the man’s hand until he made the sensible decision of bonding Tom to one of the alphas, for things would only get worse the longer they allowed the boy to remain unbonded. He walked to the stern and fished his flask of whiskey out of his pocket, draining it with one pull, but the burn of alcohol did nothing to numb the jealous roiling in his stomach at the thought of another alpha laying their claim on the boy.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was the first flogging the men had had to witness since they embarked on their voyage and moods aboard the ship ran low that evening. Tom sat on his small trunk in the steerage as men around him gobbled down their supper. He had no appetite after witnessing the flogging, his stomach already heavy with guilt. Tom hadn’t seen his uncle since that afternoon, for Edwin had shut himself in his cabin as soon as he’d delivered the punishment.

 

There were quiet mutters around him, but the mood in the steerage was subdued; even Mister Bennett who rarely went quiet had no stories to swap tonight. Tom rolled a piece of hard-tack in his hands, watching the crumbs fall on the floor at his feet, wishing he could follow them into the dark crevices between the planks. He observed the men around him from under his brows, his heart speeding up every time one of them appeared to sniff the air. He’d stolen one of Buckley’s spare neckerchiefs and had made a habit of rubbing it over his own neck whenever no one was looking, hoping it might mask his own traitorous scent. He knew betas posed no threat to him, but the scuffle he’d witnessed that morning in this very space had left him shaken.

 

The two alphas had appeared out of nowhere, scenting him through the thick cedar of the deck. The thought sent a cold prickle of fear down his spine and Tom felt exposed, the need to hide almost overpowering, but there was nowhere for him to go, the sea around them seemingly endless. Some of the betas nearby seemed to sense the anxious energy brimming under his skin. Bennett dropped his wooden spoon mid-bite and spun around on his stool, his head turning left and right as his coal-black eyes peered around suspiciously. The betas would not rut him or claim him against his will, but they could still deliver a crippling beating if they discovered there was a Judas among them, for unlike alphas, they were not held back by protective instincts around omegas. Tom’s fingers clenched around the piece of bread, turning it into floury dust, the soles of his shoes tapping against the floor boards as his eyes darted around the cramped room.

 

More heads were beginning to turn in his direction and Tom was almost ready to crawl under the narrow, dark space under his bunk, but the sudden alpha presence at the doorway drew everyone’s attention away. Hemsworth stepped into the steerage with Mister Hughes in tow, their shift up on the deck over for the day. They made their way through the crowded room, their shoulders hunched to avoid the low-hanging lanterns and thick rafters. Tom fidgeted as the two alphas drew closer, but it was too late to run. He gripped the edge of his trunk and pulled his shoulders up to his ears, wishing to make himself invisible as Hemsworth walked past him, his heavy footsteps like the physical manifestation of some imminent doom. Tom squeezed his eyes shut and his skin prickled with cold sweat when he realized Hemsworth had paused right at his side.

 

There was a sharp inhale and Tom flinched when the alpha laid a hand on him, his calloused fingers slipping under the collar of Tom’s blouse to seek out the bare skin of his shoulder. Hemsworth gave him a subtle stroke, two of his fingers brushing along the wiry muscle before pushing down gently. Tom gasped, his breath leaving him in a stuttering rush as the tension and anxiety were drained out of him. He felt a strange calm wash over him and he finally had the courage to look up, but Hemsworth’s eyes were turned straight ahead. No one around them seemed to be aware of the small contact between them, and even Bennett had gone back to his supper. Hemsworth gave the crook of Tom’s neck a gentle squeeze and pulled his hand back, his knuckles brushing over Tom’s cheek.

 

Tom spun around and watched Hemsworth disappear into the officers’ quarters, the sensation of his fingers still lingering on his skin. The alpha’s touch had left him feeling dazed and a little giddy like when he and two other boys had drank his grandmother’s apple cider behind the boat sheds last Fourth of July. He climbed into his bunk, the lump of cloth under his head softer than it had been any other night, his sleep restful for the first time since they left Nantucket.

 

*

 

It had been over a month since their last whale sighting and men were getting increasingly frustrated, for the longer it took to fill their hold, the longer they would be kept away from home. Even the normally temperate betas were beginning to bicker as their days were filled with nothing but mundane tasks. Chris lay in his bunk, working on his scrimshaw, unable to get a wink of sleep since his watch ended. Some of the men had begun to fight the boredom with liquor, for Abbott wasn’t foolish enough to ban all drinking, choosing to turn a blind eye as long as the men behaved themselves. Chris raised his eyes from his carving and glanced at the flask of whiskey on the small shelf above his bed. He, too, longed for the sweet oblivion of intoxication, but knowing the temptation that sailed aboard their ship made him hesitant to go beyond a few drops.

 

Chris dropped his carving when he heard the officer on deck shout back in excitement. And then it came, the call from the crow’s nest they’d all been waiting for, the lookout’s voice breaking the still silence of the grey December morning.

 

“There she blows!”

 

Chris felt the ship turn as the helmsman steered them towards the spot where the sighting was made. He was out of his bunk in mere seconds, rushing up to the deck, his heart beating with reinvigorated excitement at the thought of getting to hunt some whale.

 

“There’s white water!” Mister Buckley called again from the crow’s nest, and Chris hurried to the bulwark, his mouth splitting into a broad grin when he saw the telltale spray in the east. He snatched the spyglass from Mister Gilbert, and aye, there she was, a sperm whale, at least a thirty-barreler!

 

Soon the bell rang, calling all men on deck. Once Abbott had joined them, the men began to prepare the boats, the bustle and excitement almost palpable after weeks of waiting. Chris was in charge of the starboard side boat and he directed his oarsmen to fill it with tubs of harpoon lines and to make sure the irons were sharp. He didn’t even remember Tom was assigned to his boat, hand-picked by Chris himself when he was still eager to haunt the boy’s every step. He was suddenly aware of Tom’s presence nearby and glancing over his shoulder, he saw the boy standing a few feet away. Chris had made no secret of wanting the omega to keep his distance, and the look on Tom’s face was uncertain as he watched the other oarsmen prepare to lower the boat into the water.

 

Chris took his place in the boat as his boatsteerer climbed in after him, and he knew there was no time to spare on negotiating a switch between one of the boats, and it would be pointless anyway, for there were alphas in every boat. Just as he knew that his own boat would not be fully functional in the chase if he was missing one man. The boat shook as the oarsmen began to lower it and Tom peered over the bulwark, the question in his eyes clear. Chris rubbed at his bristled chin, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he gave Tom a small nod of assent.

 

Once the boat was floating on the waves, the oarsmen climbed down the side of the ship to join them. Tom took his place at the back beside Mister Buckley, right at Chris’s feet. Chris assumed his own position at the steering oar, doing his best to focus on the chase ahead. They all saw the whale’s giant fluke breach the waves on their left, much closer than Chris had expected, and he began to order the lads to row.

 

“Give way all!” he bellowed.

 

The Captain and the other mates followed them as soon as their own boats were in the water. The wind was brisk and the boats rocked and lurched on the waves as the whale led them on a merry chase. Chris’s colorful threats had been effective and his boat was almost always the fastest, which was a matter of personal pride not just for Chris, but for his entire boat crew. This time was no exception and they flew from wave top to wave top at almost six knots.

 

The salty sprays whipped their cheeks, but every man aboard the small boat was trembling with a mixture of excitement and bloodthirsty greed. This was what they all lived for, and what would eventually get them home, and even Tom appeared to be affected by the thrill of the chase. Chris was too busy keeping his eyes on their prey and directing the men, but he sensed Tom’s joy briefly as the whale blew a spray from its blowhole so close that the mist from it washed over their faces. His own smile lit up his entire face as he coaxed the men on, awakening their bloodlust with his savage words of encouragement.

 

They were the first boat within harpooning distance, the telltale hiss and roar of the whale’s lungs enough to make any whaleman’s skin crawl. Chris gave the order to stop rowing. “Avast,” he called softly, his attention turning on the boatsteerer, a middle-aged Nantucketer from First Street. Williams was built like an ox, the muscles in his arm bulging as he switched his oar to a sharpened harpoon and aimed it at the whale’s slimy back.

 

Chris himself had been a boatsteerer before his recent promotion, and could still recall the almost paralyzing moment of fear that enveloped every man in that position as the harpoon left their hand and penetrated the whale’s thick, black hide. “Give it to her, Mister Williams,” he whispered.

 

Williams’s aim was true and the sharp iron of the harpoon lodged itself in the animal’s back fat. The whale trashed left and right, the giant tail splitting the waves only a few feet away from their boat. It blew out a foul-smelling mist of air, followed by another, and Chris knew their prey was about to dive.

 

They needed to put some distance between their boat and the whale’s tail. “Pull three!” Chris shouted at the starboard side oarsmen, but the bottom of their boat split up before any of the lads could draw a single stroke.

 

They all stared as their boat began to fill with cold sea water where the boards were splintered. Chris looked up and saw the whale had not yet disappeared, which had to mean there was more than one. Every man on the boat knew these giant animals they slaughtered for a living could end their own lives ten times faster than even the most well-aimed harpoon, and they all turned their heads left and right as they tried to spot the beast that attacked their boat.

 

Chris glanced down when he felt a tentative touch on his knee. Tom stared up at him, his face as white as whale bone, and the alpha in Chris reacted to the naked fear he saw in his eyes. He reached down to take Tom’s hand, but the second attack came just as his fingers brushed against the boy’s scraped knuckles. The boat was flipped over and they were all submerged before anyone could call out a warning.

 

Chris blinked his eyes open in the murky water and it took him a moment to tell which way he should swim in his disoriented state. There was movement all around him, flailing arms and kicking feet creating a flurry of bubbles as men struggled to reach the surface. He glanced up and saw the dark shape of their capsized boat, and further away was the giant black shadow of the whale they had lanced only moments ago. A deep rumble echoed through the water as the creature filled its lungs and dove, swimming towards another shadow in the distance, this one even larger. Between them was a small blurry shape and Chris finally understood why they had been attacked.

 

They were defending their little one.

 

His own thoughts turned to Tom. Where was the omega? It was impossible to see anything with harpoons and lances floating past his head, the coils of rope unraveling around him. His lungs were beginning to burn and he used his arms and legs to propel his body up towards the capsized boat, almost able to reach the edge of it when he felt someone grab his right thigh. Chris was jerked back down as a heavy weight settled around him and some of the remaining air in his lungs threatened to escape as his mouth opened in a silent cry. Chris glanced down and saw that he was being weighed down by his boatsteerer, Mister Williams. The man clung to him as if Chris was his personal lifeline and it dawned on him that Williams couldn’t swim. Chris struggled to free himself, but Williams was large, even bigger than Chris, and in his panic, he continued to hold on, their combined weight pulling them both towards the dark fathoms below.

 

Chris gave another feeble kick, but the man clung to him like a vice. The burn in his lungs was almost unbearable and his vision was beginning to dim. He wasn’t quite sure if the slender arms emerging from the shadows were real, but he felt the weight around him lift, his descend coming to an abrupt stop. Chris glanced down, barely conscious, and saw Tom had sunk his teeth into Williams’s arm, biting at him furiously.

 

The burn in his lungs was finally too much to bear and his final breaths escaped through his nose, but Tom was there once more, sealing his soft little mouth to Chris’s. He donated some of the air that remained in his own lungs, blowing it past Chris’s lips and it was just enough to keep him hanging on to the thread of his life as Tom dragged him towards the grey light above.

 

He was barely conscious when he felt the cool caress of air on his face and when he opened his eyes, everything around him was dark. He could hear the loud ripples of the waves in his ears, the sound somehow magnified.

 

“Tom…” Chris rasped, reaching out blindly until he felt his fingers touch the boy’s cold cheek. His brain was slowly connecting the pieces and he realized they were in the air pocket that had formed under the capsized boat.

 

“Are you alright, sir?” Tom asked, barely able to speak as he gulped down large mouthfuls of air. He clung to Chris’s shoulders, his feet kicking to keep them afloat.

 

“I’m alright, Tom, I’m alright,” Chris gasped. He pressed his fingers over the boy’s bonding spot and felt his relief wash over him in the dark, enclosed space.

 

“I saw Williams grab you and I came back for you as soon as I’d filled my lungs with air.”

 

Chris felt a mixture of regret and sadness as he realized he had just lost his boatsteerer. Williams had been a good man, but if Tom hadn’t interfered, Chris, too, would be dead now, his lifeless body sinking towards the eternal graveyard of the ocean floor.

 

They were picked up by Abbott and the other mates soon after, and Chris was glad to see that his own boat wasn’t beyond salvaging. They attached some of the ropes from Abbott’s boat to the prow and towed the damaged whaleboat back to the ship. The loss of Williams hit them all hard, for many of the older men had sailed with him on previous voyages, but they all knew the many dangers of their profession and death was a very real part of every whaleman’s life.

 

No one else from Chris’s boat crew was injured, but Tom was visibly distraught. Chris watched him from the corner of his eye as he helped the men haul his damaged boat up from the water. The boy stood at the prow, staring into the empty horizon. The weight of Williams’ death was not on his shoulders, but Chris could see Tom was shaken by the events.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A man was dead because of him. The naked fear he’d seen in Williams’s eyes as the boatsteerer sunk into the dark depths continued to play in Tom’s head on an endless loop, and he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, shaking his head at nothing, for what else could he have done? There hadn’t been a single thought in Tom’s head as he’d buried his teeth into Williams’s arm, save for _no, no, not him, not him_. Tom snarled at the empty horizon, his blunt nails digging into his palms. There was a sudden flare of possessive anger in his heart and it took him by surprise, for it was aimed at Williams.

 

The wind carried the familiar rumble of Hemsworth’s voice to his ears from across the deck as the alpha directed the repairs of their damaged boat, and Tom stole a glance at him over his shoulder. If he hadn’t buried his teeth into Williams’s arm, he would have lost the alpha. Tom clutched at his stomach as it gave a strange lurch and his hand wandered up to his neck to scratch at the juncture of his shoulder. The skin under his fingers was warm and swollen and he felt sensitive all over.

 

Tom tugged his collar up and crossed his hands behind his back when he saw his uncle climb up to the quarter deck.

 

“Are you alright, Thomas? What on earth happened out there?”

 

Tom shrugged, reluctant to talk about it, for only he and Hemsworth knew what had transpired with Williams. Edwin seemed to respect Tom’s need for silence, but his uncle gave his wet coat a tug, his fussing reminding Tom of his mother.

 

“Come, you should get out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold.”

 

Tom followed Edwin down the hatch, but he paused at the bottom of the stairs as his gaze was drawn to the forecastle where Hill and two other alphas sat on their trunks, comparing their scrimshaw carvings. His stomach was in knots and his skin felt tight all over, like a set of clothes that no longer fit him. His hand flew up to his collar to expose his shoulder, the skin throbbing. The alphas snapped their heads up and Tom felt pinned down by their gazes as they stared at him like a pack of predators. And he couldn’t help it, spinning around like a puppet, his feet carrying him toward the alphas’ lair.

 

“Thomas? Where are you going?”

 

Edwin seized Tom by his shoulder and Tom doubled over when he felt his stomach twist. Something tore at him from the inside and his vision swam and he struggled to breathe even as he tried to free himself from Edwin’s hold, for he _needed_ to close the distance that separated him from the alphas.

 

His uncle finally broke the spell by stepping in front of him and blocking Tom’s view of the alphas. “As you were, lads,” Edwin called to the men in the forecastle, his word as Captain still holding some power over the suspicious alphas. He escorted Tom into the steerage and closed the heavy door behind them, his eyes alarmed. “Are you alright, son? You weren’t hurt when the boat capsized, were you?”

 

Tom didn’t know what to say, for he did not wish to put into words what he already knew in his heart. The incessant need he’d done his best to suffocate was finally too strong to ignore, his own nature and what he was underneath his skin forcing him to submit. It the end, Tom didn’t have to say a word as his uncle cupped his clammy cheek, his expression shocked at his discovery.

 

“Tom… You’re burning up.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Chris spent the afternoon working on his boat with the help of Mister Gilbert and a couple of greenies, hammering the hull until every hole and splinter was patched up. Once the boat was mended, Chris headed down the hatch to give the Captain a proper account of what had transpired during the failed whale hunt that morning. The blubber-room was dark, the cold boiling pots evidence of their failure, but Chris was too relieved to be alive to feel any anger over it. He paused at the steerage door when he saw Abbott crouched by one of the bunks. The Captain turned his head as Chris cleared his throat, and the solemn look on his face revealed that all was not right.

 

Abbott came to the doorway, unable to mask his distress from Chris’s sharp nose. “My nephew appears to be a bit shaken about the morning’s events,” Abbott said, voice hushed.

 

That much was obvious, but Chris could tell there was something more the Captain wasn’t saying. “And? What else?”

 

Abbott glanced over his shoulder at his nephew. “ _What else_?” Chris pressed, and the beta seemed to wilt before his eyes.

 

“And… I’m afraid the boy has developed a mild fever.”

 

Chris’s expression darkened as he turned his eyes to Tom. The boy lay in his bunk, his face illuminated by the warm glow of the nearby lantern. His sunburnt cheeks had gained a deeper flush and his eyes held a glassy stare. Abbott insisted Tom had simply been exposed to cold water, but the alpha in Chris knew this was no ordinary fever. The emotional distress and physical strain of what they’d all been through that morning had finally sent the omega’s remaining defenses crumbling. They both knew what was coming and there was nothing Abbott could do to prevent it.

 

Most times the mere presence of an alpha was enough to send an omega into heat, and Tom had been surrounded by several alphas for weeks on end. Chris could sense it even without looking, though the wandering, unfocused gaze and the deep flush on Tom’s cheeks were a dead giveaway. It was something instinctual that was built into him and Chris knew Tom would go into heat before the day was over.

 

He joined Tom by his bunk with Abbott and Mister Shaw who served as the ship’s doctor when the need arose hovering nearby. He took shallow breaths through his mouth and did his best to keep his worry from showing on his face as he got down to one knee by Tom’s bedside.

 

The boy’s scent was already beginning to change, the air between them thick. “How are you feeling, Tom?” Chris asked, his voice level even as his nails left deep grooves on the skin of his palms.

Tom gave a small shrug, his eyes unfocused. He scratched at his neck absently, the skin raw and covered in tiny cuts from his own nails. “I’m fine, sir,” Tom slurred, and Chris could smell the telltale tang of opiates on his breath.

 

He glanced over his shoulder and saw the medicine chest in Shaw’s hands. No drug would cure or prevent what ailed the young omega, but Chris could understand the Captain’s desperate attempt to delay what was coming. Tom’s eyes fell shut, but Chris sensed the raw edges of the boy’s anxiety even through the chemically-induced stupor, and underneath it was a heavy mix of guilt and agony over Williams’ sad fate.

 

Chris had never been good with words of solace, but he cleared his throat, lowering his voice. “What happened was not your fault. You did what you had to do, Tom. It was either him or me.”

 

Tom gave no reply, but Chris saw the slight tremble of his bottom lip, heard the quiet sniff. He reached out, about to touch the boy’s shoulder, but he drew his hand back at the last moment, not entirely sure he could trust himself with physical contact. He glanced down at his lapels and pulled one of the whale bones pinned to this coat from the leather buckle. Chris offered the intricately carved bone to Tom, for the boy had certainly earned it. “I’m glad you came back for me,” Chris whispered, low enough that Abbott and Shaw could not hear him.

 

Tom accepted the small gift of gratitude, turning the carved bone over in his fingers. His eyes remained unfocused, but the small smile that rose to his lips was genuine. "Thank you, Mister Hemsworth.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Chris spent the evening up on the deck, surveying the country that was the Tailwind from the helm. He’d made certain all the unbonded alphas were within his eyesight with a task at hand, for they had grown increasingly restless over the course of the day, snarling and posturing whenever they got in each other’s way in the narrow spaces on the deck. Chris had been forced to send Edwards up to the crow’s nest after the young Nantucketer began to sniff around the main hatch, and they all appeared confused by their own behavior, most likely wondering if their minds were playing tricks on them.

 

Chris’s own palms were almost raw from gripping the wooden handles of the steering wheel, his blouse drenched with sweat, fat drops of perspiration rolling down his back. The possessive need inside him was unlike anything Chris had felt before, the primal urge to claim the omega as his own driving over everything else. He’d doused his handkerchief in whiskey and he pressed the cloth to his face whenever the alpha in him demanded to answer the omega’s call, the fumes burning in his nostrils and making his eyes water. It was barely working anymore, and Chris was beginning to consider the idea of drinking himself into a stupor when a set of hurried footsteps on the wooden deck drew his attention.

 

Abbott was walking towards him at a brisk pace, the look on his face telling. Chris turned his eyes up to the crow’s nest where Mister Edwards was attempting to stay awake, leaning against the ropes like a ragdoll. The choice appeared obvious, for Hill and Price were both nearly a decade older than Tom, and Chris himself, well, the odds were definitely not in his favor after the treatment Tom had received from him in the early days of the voyage.

 

Abbott joined him at the helm, looking weary and old beyond his years, his worry for his nephew etched into the lines on his face. His voice was strained when he spoke, “He’s asking for _you_.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Chris followed Abbott down to the steerage where the beta members of the crew lay in their bunks, tossing around restlessly, their eyes cautious. Tom’s own bunk was empty, but his scent still lingered in the dimly-lit room and Chris had to keep himself from rushing past Abbott to sniff at the blanket like some crazed animal.

 

“I’ve moved him to my own quarters,” Abbott whispered as he led Chris towards the officers’ quarters in the aft section of the ship. “I thought he might be safer there.”

 

They walked through the mates’ small living space and paused at the door to the Captain’s cabin. Abbott pressed his brow against the wooden beam next to his head and exhaled a deep sigh. Chris could see the man was torn between respecting Tom’s choice and his personal opinion of Chris, for the look on his face said it all: neither Abbott nor his family had ever imagined Tom would have to settle for a man like Chris, a coarse-mannered coof from Cape Cod with nothing to offer.

 

“Are you certain he asked for me?” Chris asked, for even he had his doubts about Tom’s unexpected choice.

 

Abbott gave a sneer, the gesture void of any humor. “Oh, I’m certain.” He rubbed at his temple as if he were having the worst of migraines and began to walk away, pausing briefly at the door to give Chris an imploring look. “Just… don’t hurt him. I beseech you. Make it easy for him.”

                                                                      

Chris watched as the Captain returned to the steerage and ordered the third mate to keep watch at the door. He turned his eyes on the door and reached into the pocket of his coat to pull out his flask. He took a swig of whiskey and pressed the flask to his nose, inhaling deeply, his head spinning from the strong fumes.

 

The small cabin was lit by a single lantern, the long shadows on the walls moving with the gentle sway of the ship. Tom was huddled on his uncle’s bed in a small nest of quilts and linens. His vest and overcoat lay discarded in a heap by the bed, his willowy body drenched in sweat, face still flushed from fever. The boy sat up and lurched forward, the omega in him reacting to Chris’s presence.

 

“Don’t try to stand up,” Chris admonished softly. “ _Stay_.”

 

Tom obeyed, collapsing back onto the heap of sheets. His scent was almost overpowering, forcing past the whiskey fumes Chris had inhaled only a moment ago. It permeated every corner of the room, and Chris felt his breath hitch in his throat as he inhaled greedily, unable to stop himself from savoring the sweet mix of omega pheromones and something that was uniquely Tom. He circled around the cabin to stand behind the large mahogany chair to put some distance between him and Tom, his control hanging by a thread.

 

Tom looked so young, the skin around his eyes slightly bruised, his sweat-matted curls clinging to his brow.

 

Chris clutched at the backrest, the wood threatening to splinter under the force of his grip. “You wanted to see me?” He could smell Tom’s heat was almost upon him and the boy was already slick and ripe for any alpha aboard the ship to claim him.

 

Tom swallowed, his throat bobbing. The narcotics he’d been given had worn off a while ago, but his gaze remained unfocused. “It’s happening,” he choked out, “I cannot fight it. Please, I-I need…”

 

Chris’s nostrils flared as he lurched forward, the legs of the chair dragging against the floor before he managed to stop himself. “You want me to claim you?” he asked, voice rough and a little desperate. “You have to say it, Tom. I’ll be ruined if I take you against your will.”

 

Tom closed his eyes and inhaled, drinking in Chris’s scent. “Yes… I think-- I think it was always going to be you.”

 

Chris had heard stories of some omegas recognizing their mate long before the bond was formed, but he’d paid them no heed, believing such tales to be nothing more than nonsense told by lonely fishwives. He had been the one to trigger the shift in Tom, but Chris had never been a sentimental man, and he knew there was no love between them, for they were both strangers to each other, brought together by necessity and the call of their own natures.

 

They both startled at the sudden stomping above their heads, followed by the clang of harpoons and barrels tumbling down the deck. The clatter meant the other alphas had finally smelled Tom’s heat and Chris knew he had to claim the boy before one of them could rush in to challenge him. He shoved the chair aside and dashed to the bed, pulling Tom roughly into his lap. The boy sobbed at the contact, his pupils growing dark in the pools of his eyes, desperate for touch. Chris tugged him flush against his chest and reached up to pull Tom’s collar aside, exposing his bonding muscle. His mouth watered as he stared at the freckled skin, swollen and raw pink, ready for an alpha’s mark.

 

“Please, sir…” Tom whimpered, his eyes glazed as he craned his neck, begging so sweetly for Chris to claim him. “Do it, please-”

 

Chris snarled low in his throat, the primal need to claim drowning out all rational thoughts. He buried his fingers in the sweaty curls at Tom’s nape and bent his neck as he surged down to sink his canines into the omega’s softly yielding flesh.

 

Tom sobbed with relief, a rush of pheromones washing over them both as the tension in his body released. His hands flew up to Chris’s shoulders, blunt nails clawing at the worn velvet of his coat. Chris could smell the subtle change in his scent and he knew the boy was finally in heat. He clutched at the gauzy material of Tom’s blouse, his mouth still sealed around the bonding mark, and continued to claim the boy as his own. He had never understood how a mere bite could form such an unbreakable bond between two people, but as the iron taste of Tom’s blood bloomed on his tongue, Chris _knew_ this omega was his. He flicked his tongue out to lap at the scratch marks from Tom’s own fingers, soothing the inflamed skin, the alpha in him finally satisfied.

 

He withdrew slowly and they watched each other in silence, their chests rising and falling in unison. Chris brushed the pad of his thumb against the bonding bruise, a mix of crimson and purple where blood had welled up to the surface. It would fade over time, but the bond they had created would be forever.

 

Tom let out a quiet sigh as Chris continued to caress the bite mark, the corners of his mouth curving up in a tentative little smile. “You’re mine now,” Chris whispered, his own smile mirroring Tom’s.

 

The air around them was heady with their combined pheromones, the pressure around Chris’s still deflated knot already hard to ignore. His claim was only half-complete, and he knew the boy’s heat would not subside until he’d been properly mounted. Chris lifted Tom up from his lap and maneuvered him until he was on his hands and knees in the nest of quilts he’d built for them. He pulled the boy’s trousers down to his thighs, breathing out a satisfied grunt as he saw the way Tom’s smallclothes clung to his skin, so wet they were almost sheer.

 

“Please… please,” Tom panted, his face pressed into the feather pillow, eyes fixed intently on Chris. He reached behind himself to pull his round cheeks apart. “Please, touch me.”

 

Chris ran his fingers over Tom’s cleft, his lust mounting. “You need me?” It was more a statement than a question and Chris groaned at the way Tom’s hole opened for him as he rubbed his fingers over it through his smallclothes, ready to be mated. Tom gave a desperate little mewl, the sound so needy that Chris felt the glands of his knot give a painful throb.

 

He hurried to undo the laces in his own trousers and worked his hand inside to wrap his fingers tightly around the shaft of his rapidly swelling cock to keep his knot from inflating. Tom undulated his hips back and forth, his fingers scrambling for purchase on the woolen quilt, eyes unfocused and dark with want. Chris settled behind him on the bed and lowered the final layer of clothing, exposing his ripe young omega to his hungry eyes. The smallclothes bunched around Tom’s knees and Chris growled at the sight of his pink, wet omega cunt, the rim already puffy from his heat. Even the soft skin of his inner thighs was glistening with how wet Tom was for him.

 

He rubbed two of his fingers over Tom’s opening and they both gasped as his digits slid through the warm slick. The boy had never been taken, but there was no resistance as Chris breached him, pushing his fingers deeper. Tom was so soft, clenching around the thick digits, already milking him as if Chris could breed him with his fingers alone.

 

Chris’s gaze was drawn lower and he watched as Tom’s hard little cock bobbed between his thighs, ruddy and wet with his own slick. Omegas, both male and female, were made to be bred, and Tom’s prick was smaller than average, for it held no other purpose than to bring the omega pleasure during their couplings. Chris reached between Tom’s legs and wrapped his fingers around the hard shaft. Tom thrust into Chris’s fingers, his back arched like a bow, and he began to leak the moment Chris pulled the foreskin up, spilling clear drops of pre-spend on the quilt beneath him.

 

Chris had never seen anything so enticing and he felt his knot throb between his thighs at the sight of Tom’s pleasure. He had wanted to touch the boy for weeks, the struggle to keep his distance the most maddening thing he had ever experienced. More slick seeped out from Tom’s hole and Chris followed the glistening trail with his eyes as it ran down the boy’s swollen perineum. He caught a few drops of it on his fingers and brought them up to his mouth for a taste.

 

“Fuck…” Chris threw his head back as the heady musk of Tom’s heat exploded on his tongue. His own cock spat out a drop of seed inside his trousers and he sucked his fingers clean, greedy for more. “I need to taste you,” he panted, pulling Tom’s round arse cheeks apart and surging down to lick into the omega like a man starving.

 

Tom mewled, his thighs shaking as he clenched around Chris’s tongue. There was no need to prepare the boy, and this was more about Chris’s own pleasure. He licked inside and around the pink, swollen rim, and soon his entire face was wet with his omega’s need. Tom cried out and Chris withdrew just in time to see the boy spill for the first time. His small sack drew up and his cock gave a throb as it spewed out a couple of drops of seed, his release nearly dry.

 

Tom sucked his red bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes desperate. “Please, I need…”

 

They both knew Tom needed to be bred on an alpha’s knot. “It’s alright, I’ll take care of you,” Chris murmured. He urged Tom to stand up and helped him out of his trousers until the boy was completely bare waist down. He had lost some weight since they left Nantucket and the alpha in Chris wanted to fatten him up until his cheeks were round and glowing again. Tom gave him a confused look as Chris took his place on the bed, settling down on his back. “It’ll be easier if you’re on top,” Chris explained.

 

He helped Tom to settle in his lap and lowered his own trousers enough to free himself. The boy gave an audible gasp when his eyes landed on Chris’s hard alpha cock. He reached between them to brush his slender fingers over the thick shaft, eyes curious and a little greedy, and there was a fresh wave of pheromones in the air when Tom gave a tentative touch to the soft tissue of Chris’s knot. His thighs were slick where the boy’s arse was pressed against them, and he could already feel his knot begin to fill out under Tom’s caresses.

 

“I have to be inside you,” Chris rasped. “Now.”

 

Tom gave an eager nod as Chris reached between his thighs and eased his cock into Tom’s hole, so open and ready for him. The boy cried out and Chris felt a fresh pulse of slick around his cock, thick drops of it forced out as he thrust deeper. They were a perfect match and his young mate looked so lovely, his face aglow with pleasure, Chris’s half-swollen knot pressing against the softly yielding rim of his hole.

 

Tom’s hand flew up to his neck and Chris watched as he stroked his slender fingers over the bonding mark, his tiny cock poking out under the hem of his blouse. He stroked his hands up along the narrow lines of Tom’s flanks to caress the soft shape of his chest, brushing his thumbs over the pert nipples as Tom bounced in his lap. He moved his hands up to curl his fingers around the long column of Tom’s throat and tightened his hold just enough to satisfy his own need to possess. Tom shivered, the air sweet with his pheromones as he leaned into the touch, his throat bobbing against Chris’s palms. He spilled again, his cock straining and twitching through a dry orgasm.

 

Chris released his hold around Tom’s throat and lowered his hands to the flat expanse of his belly, the slender muscles rippling under his fingers. He’d never thought he’d take a mate, but he felt his knot swell another inch as he thought of his seed taking root inside Tom, his belly round and heavy with Chris’s child. Tom seemed to sense his thoughts and he stilled in Chris’s lap. He licked his lips, eyes nervous as he stared at Chris’s large hands over his belly.

 

Many omegas slipped a mix of herbs into their tea to keep each heat from resulting in children, but Tom wouldn’t have access to such things until they reached land. Chris sensed Tom’s hesitation and part of him even shared it. There was a primal need in him that drove him to plant his seed inside a fertile omega, but Chris was no more ready for fatherhood than Tom.

 

“There’s no need to worry, Tom,” he murmured, lowering his hands to Tom’s thighs. “My seed won’t take root unless I’m in a rut and that won’t happen until your next heat.”

 

Tom’s face went slack with relief, but he looked a little apologetic. “I’m sorry, I… I’m just not ready for-“

 

Chris reached up to give the mark on Tom’s neck a gentle stroke. “That makes two of us.”

 

The tension between them vanished at the knowledge that their first coupling would not result in children. Chris felt his knot push against Tom’s hole with every upward thrust and he knew he had reached his limit. “I have to knot you,” he gasped. He pulled out long enough to make sure the boy was ready to receive him, the rush of fresh, warm slick over his knuckles answer enough. He wrapped his fingers under the swelling knot, feeding it into Tom’s lax hole. The boy doubled over as the knot slipped through and Chris wrapped his arms around his small shoulders, cradling the omega against his chest. “There you go,” he breathed, emptying his seed into his mate, “such a good boy.”

 

Fully sheathed and spilling inside, his claim over his mate was complete, the bond between them more than Chris had shared with anyone. He relished the feel of Tom’s weight in his arms, the boy’s scent now mingled with his own. The connection between them went beyond the physical union of their bodies, and Chris knew he would care for Tom for as long as there was life in his chest. He sealed his lips over the bruise on Tom’s neck, flicking his tongue against the tender skin. Tom shivered at the caress, utterly content in Chris’s warm embrace.

 

“How do you feel?” Chris whispered, nosing at Tom’s cheek.

 

Tom’s eyes fluttered open, his cheeks dimpling with a soft, sated smile. “Much better.”

 

The skin under his eyes was still a little bruised, but Chris could see the boy’s fever had broken. He ruffled Tom’s curly head and settled his hand over the bonding mark, gentling the omega with his fingers, this time as his mate.

 

His knot pulsed at the intimate touch, the satisfaction of getting to spill inside an omega surpassing every experience he’d had with a beta. He knew they would be joined for a long time, but Chris was in no rush to be parted. The hull of the ship creaked around them and Chris could tell they had lowered their speed from the way their bodies rocked gently on the bed. The restless noises on the deck had ceased, and Chris felt a sense of possessive pride at the knowledge that Tom was no longer under any threat from the other alphas.

 

Tom rested his cheek on Chris’s shoulder, tracing his fingers idly along the smooth length of the whale bone pin on the lapel. He glanced up, his eyes darting to the side, a little uncertain. “What happens now?”

 

The question drew Chris out of his content lull, reminding him of the reality of their situation. He’d gone to sea when he was a boy of fourteen and his short stints on land were spent in various boarding houses. He owned no land and his possessions barely filled the bottom of a trunk. “I’m not going to lie to you, Thomas,” Chris said, for the boy deserved his honesty. “I’m not a wealthy man. My life has always been at sea and it’s all I know.”

 

Tom’s face fell at the admission, but Chris found the unintentional slip of honesty from his spoiled mate endearing. He cupped Tom’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I know you never wanted to come on this voyage.”

 

Tom’s mouth drew into an unhappy line, his freckled nose scrunching. “It was my father’s decision, not mine.”

 

“I know, but you’re bonded to me now,” Chris said, his voice assertive. “Your will is no longer bound to your father.” He watched the uncertain twist of Tom’s brows as the boy wondered what it would mean for his future, for many alphas were jealous by nature, guarding their mates like priced possessions. They both knew Tom’s future laid elsewhere, for life aboard a whaler was unsuitable for any omega and Chris would not be the one to keep him from fulfilling his own dreams. “I can’t offer you much,” Chris said, cupping Tom’s flushed cheek, “but you are free to go home to Nantucket and remain there if that is what you wish.”

 

Tom’s entire face lit up at Chris’s words. “Truly?!” He bounced up to lean his weight on his arms, and in his excitement he forgot they were still joined.

 

Chris hissed at the sudden jostling, his knot still firmly lodged inside Tom. “Careful…”

 

Tom settled back down, burying his face in the crook of Chris’s neck. “ _Thank you._ ”

 

Chris felt the bond between them with every breath, the tender tug in his heart novel but welcome. “I will have my captaincy, Tom.” He clasped his hand over the boy’s shoulder and brushed his thumb against the shape of his own teeth marks. “We’ll have a home on Pleasant Street and you and our children will be happy in it, I promise.”

 

Tom gave Chris’s bristled cheek a nuzzle and the air between them was sweet with his joy.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Epilogue_

 

_1825_

 

The wind blew from the east that morning. Tom watched the playful swirl of leaves in the small gusts through the window of his carriage as it drew him down the hill and toward the bustle of the wharves. News of the Tailwind’s return had reached town last week and folks were full of anticipation. According to Mrs. Smith, the ship was meant to arrive last Friday while Mr. Rooney at the harbor master’s office claimed the winds had changed and the Tailwind wouldn’t be home until next week.

 

Tom smiled at his reflection in the window. He knew this was the day his mate would return to him, for he’d smelled it in the wind and felt it on his mark.

 

The harbor in Nantucket never slept, but there was extra bustle on the wharves today as families of the sailors crowded on the piers, all of them eager for the long-awaited reunion. Tom pushed his way through the mass of people until he had reached the edge of the pier, his gaze turned on the horizon. He’d left little Benjamin with the nanny, for the docks were no place for a toddler, and some selfish part of him didn’t want to share Chris with another living soul for the first moments of their reunion.

 

The Tailwind had spent the last two years plowing the Atlantic, but there she finally was, the wind in her sails carrying her home. Tom watched as the familiar shape of the ship grew larger, and the cries of joy all around him meant he wasn’t the only one who had spotted the Tailwind’s much-anticipated silhouette in the horizon. Tom reached under the neat bow of his neckerchief, the tips of his fingers brushing against the mark on his shoulder, the skin warm to the touch. His heart gave an eager leap when the ship was finally close enough for Chris to wave at him from the ratlines and he stood on his toes to wave back, his eyes a little misty as he clutched at his own shoulder.

 

The piers were narrow and Tom waited patiently under the porch of Mr. Nicholson’s bait shop, for he knew Chris would find him the moment he was able to set foot on land. There were many joyful reunions around him as people found their mates and he peered over the crowd, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he tried to catch a glimpse of Chris.

 

And then he felt it, the familiar warm weight of Chris’s hand on his shoulder, the small touch over his mark resonating in his heart. He was spun around and pulled into a tight embrace, his feet lifting up from the ground as Chris hugged him to his chest.

 

“Tom…”

 

The bristles of Chris’s beard scratched against Tom’s cheek as he nuzzled at his neck, one of his hands tugging at Tom’s collar to expose his shoulder. Chris yanked the stiff fabric aside and there was a soft rip as the velvet of Tom’s coat tore under his impatient fingers, but Tom found he didn’t care, the feel of Chris’s lips on his bonding mark a moment later worth more than a dozen of the finest jackets money could buy.

 

He buried his own face in Chris’s neck, and though his scent was a little musty after months at sea, Tom drank it all in, so greedy for it that he found himself sniffing along the alpha’s jaw like an overeager puppy. He felt the rumble of Chris’s chest as he let out a deep chuckle, pulling back just enough to capture Tom’s lips in a hungry kiss.

 

“It appears I’ve been missed,” he laughed and set Tom down on his feet to get a proper look at him.

 

“Only a little,” Tom huffed, his eyes a tad mischievous.

 

It was a tall tale and they both knew it when Tom jumped back into Chris’s arms, planting a dozen little pecks all over his grinning face. He let out an indignant little squeak when he felt Chris’s wandering hands reach under his coat lapels and pulled back to give Chris’s chest a small shove, rolling his eyes at the suggestive smile he was given.

 

Tom tugged on the hem of his coat and smoothed his hands over it. “You wretch,” he admonished, but Chris’s smile didn’t waver, and Tom knew the alpha could smell his own need, for two years was a long time to be parted.

 

At the beginning of their union the long separation had been easy for Tom to endure, for they were still strangers to each other when they returned home to Nantucket after Tom’s first and only voyage aboard the Tailwind. The news about his shift had come as a shock to his family, and the welcome he’d received upon his return had been a cold one. His father didn’t even attempt to mask his disappointment when he discovered his eldest son would not carry on his legacy as he’d intended, but the real scandal had been Tom’s choice in the man he’d taken as his bonded mate.

 

The formal luncheon they’d had at his mother’s request was a disaster from the start. His father’s needling words to Chris as insulting to Tom as they were to his mate, and Tom was ashamed to admit that his own opinion of Chris had been equally low when he’d first laid eyes on the alpha. The dinner came to a head when his father offered to gift Chris his long-awaited captaincy, dangling the position in front of the alpha as if he were giving alms to the poor. Everyone at the table could see that the seemingly generous offer was nothing more than a thinly veiled insult, and Chris had declined, Tom’s hold on his hand the only thing holding back his temper.

 

Chris was a proud man and Tom knew the alpha in him would never accept charity from a beta like his father, but he was forced to swallow his pride when it came to their initial living arrangements, for he did not wish to subject Tom to the dank rooms of the local boarding houses. His Uncle Edwin was kind enough to offer them lodging until Chris was able to provide Tom with a house of his own, and though Tom was glad to live under his uncle’s roof, he knew the arrangement was not an easy thing for Chris to swallow.

 

“This is not charity, Mister Hemsworth. I’m doing this for Thomas,” he heard his uncle say as they settled in that first night.

 

“As am I”, came Chris’s clipped response.

 

“I only wish for him to be happy.”

 

“As do I.”

 

Chris set off on another voyage in the fall and Tom did not hold it against him, for he knew Chris was desperate to fulfill the promise he’d made to Tom the night they were bonded. Tom was finally able to pursue his own dreams, and though Chris would have allowed him to try his hand at all the professions available to omegas, Tom spent his days in the small garden of his uncle’s house painting and sketching, the hobby something that had been dear to his heart since he was a boy. The paintings were simply a means to pass the time, but Chris was so impressed by Tom’s talent that he made a habit of taking some of his work with him whenever he set off to sea and it appeared his idyllic renditions of their small island gained quite a bit of popularity in the faraway corners of the world Chris visited on his long voyages.

 

The bond between them grew stronger each time Chris returned home for the summer and before either of them had realized it, there was genuine affection between them. Tom began to go into heat each time Chris returned home, and Chris’s body responded by sending the alpha in him into a rut. Chris helped Tom to accept his newfound needs, and soon their private time in the bedroom was no longer a thing of necessity, but something both of them enjoyed. Their couplings lasted for days and Tom did not doubt that his virile mate could swell his belly with his child if given the chance. Many alphas were inherently controlling and the omegas bonded to them were often forced to bear a whole litter of children for their mates, but Chris did not object when Tom drank a special tea to keep his seed from taking root.

 

They moved to a cozy house on First Street after Chris returned from his second voyage, and there came a time when the omega in Tom began to long for a child, the rooms in their small home quiet and empty the moment Chris went away. The mere mention of allowing Chris to breed him with no tea to undo it sent the alpha into such a rut that Tom barely saw the outside of their bedroom for a week. When little Benjamin was born nine months later, Chris was on his first voyage as the newly promoted captain of the Tailwind. It was rare for men in his profession to be present for the birth of their children, but Tom had written to Chris as soon as he’d recovered, attaching a small sketch of their son to the letter. Chris had never been one to write long letters, his responses roughly worded and professional, but the letter Tom received a few months later was full of open longing, the black ink stained in places with what Tom knew to be tears shed in secret.

 

They’d spent more time apart than in each other’s company, but the last two years had been hard for Tom to endure. There were times when the ache on his shoulder kept him awake in the small hours of the night, his longing for Chris almost too much to bear.

 

Tom pressed his cheek into the soft velvet of Chris’s uniform, his chin trembling as he fought to keep himself from crying in front of the whole of Nantucket. “I’ve been counting down the days from the moment you left,” he choked out.

 

Chris brushed his fingers through the gentle wave of Tom’s neatly combed hair and laid his other hand over his shoulder. “Hush, I’m here now,” he murmured.

 

“For a while, yes,” Tom sighed, unable to muster another smile for their happy reunion, for he knew that in three months’ time they would be saying their farewells again.

 

Chris leaned back and cupped Tom’s chin in his fingers, his eyes mirthful as he shook his head. “No, not for a while,” he said, the smile on his lips growing broader. “We brought back more than nineteen hundred barrels, Tom. Nineteen hundred! And I reckon we have enough savings from my years as Captain now.”

 

Tom’s eyes grew wide as the implications of Chris’s words dawned on him. He grasped his large palm with both hands and gave it an eager tug. “Does this mean you’ll stay?”

 

Chris brought Tom’s hands up to his chapped lips and planted a kiss on his knuckles. “Aye, for as long as you’ll have me.”


End file.
